


Stricken: The Principles of Lust

by chochowilliams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Fantasy, Infidelity, Language, M/M, Male Slash, Original Characters - Freeform, Romance, Sexual Situations, non-epilogue compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chochowilliams/pseuds/chochowilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No strings. No promises. No commitment. Just a single night of passion to ease the loneliness. It wasn’t until Harry discovered he was pregnant did things start to become complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forbidden Voices

**Author's Note:**

> The poem is, “I wandered lonely as a cloud” by William Wordsworth
> 
> As I’m my own beta, I may have missed something, so let me now if you spot something. On another note, this starts off as a one night stand between Harry and Lucius, but will end up being an HP/DM.
> 
> A word of warning, as I am American: Mary Sues and Brit Picks need not apply!

_I wandered lonely as a cloud_   
_That floats on high o’er vales and hills,_   
_When all at once I saw a crowd,_   
_A host, of golden daffodils;_   
_Besides the lake, beneath the tree,_   
_Fluttering and dancing in the breeze._

-From “I wandered lonely as a cloud” by William Wordsworth

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 1: Forbidden Voices**

**31st December - Corfield Manor - Shropshire, England**

Byron Lancelot Corfield--bachelor, self-made billionaire and self-proclaimed Lord--was a Turncoat. Many were unaware of this and that was exactly how Lord Corfield, as he preferred to be referred to as, wanted it to be. During the Second Wizarding War, Lord Corfield was a secret supporter of the Dark Lord. While he hadn’t agreed with many of His tactics, Lord Corfield understood the reasoning behind said tactics. But when the Dark Lord fell, Lord Corfield switched his allegiances to Harry Potter and the Light--as detestable as that was. One would do whatever one could in the name of self-preservation.

“Ah! Mr. Potter,” Lord Corfield greeted the eighteen year old _The Daily Prophet_ was referring to as “the Savior” as said teen was announced by one of the Lord’s well-dressed house-elves. “Welcome!”

An excited murmur rose about the two men.

Harry tried his best to ignore it. It was something he was becoming an expert on doing as of late, but it didn’t change how very much he detested the obsequious behavior those of the Wizarding World showed him. All he could do at this point was wait for it to die down, which it would do…eventually. In the meantime, he could continue doing what he’s been doing in order to deal with the unwanted attention: pretend it did not exist.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Harry greeted a beaming Lord Corfield.

With a strained smile plastered on his face, he allowed his hand to be swallowed by his host’s massive mitt and pumped vigorously. Who needed to lift weights when people were always excited to shake your hand? It reminded him vividly of when Hagrid had taken him to Diagon Alley for the first time and every witch in the Leaky Caldron had wanted to shake his hand. Only this time, he was not in the mood to exchange pleasantries, but since protocol demanded it, he forced himself to participate.

“You have a beautiful home.” Merlin, he wished he’d stayed home.

He wasn’t sure which was worse: being treated as if he were the greatest wizard since Merlin or the hundreds of bodies pressing in on him. At the first stirring of panic, Harry effectively shut down those thoughts. He would not have a panic attack in the middle of Lord Corfield’s ballroom.

Lord Corfield inclined his head. “Thank you. It is the ancestral home of the Corfield family,” he explained. “Please.” Lord Corfield swept his famed guest into the crowded ballroom with a hand on the younger man’s lower back and a smug air about him.

The excited murmur followed.

As they wove their way through the ballroom, people reached out to touch Harry and shake his hand and thank him. He could see the reverence on their faces and in their eyes. It made him very uncomfortable, especially when many of the men bowed and the women curtsied as if he were some dignitary. His Slytherin-side was torn between being smug at the attention that it felt he so richly deserved and disgusted by everybody’s hypocrisy. His Gryffindor-side was just plain uncomfortable with the whole affair. He hadn’t chosen to fight Voldemort in order to be lavishly praised and worshipped. He’d done it because it was something that needed to be done.

Harry found himself scouting out all possible escape routes and exits as Lord Corfield led him further into the wiggling mass of bodies as well as the other guests for possible threats.

“Like the Black family, the Corfields are an ancient and proud bloodline,” Lord Corfield was saying. “Of course, my ancestors were much like the Gaunts. I am assuming you’ve heard of the Gaunts. Mr. Potter?”

“I’m sorry?” Harry flushed guiltily for having been caught not paying attention to his host.

“The Gaunts?” If Lord Corfield was annoyed by his guest’s distraction, he did not show it. “I am assuming you have heard of them?”

Instead of anger the connection his mind made between the Gaunt family to the Dark Lord and thus the war, a bitter sadness welled within him--a sadness that spoke of loss and sacrifice and the tremendous pain that still kept Harry up at night. It was something he was not--could not, would not--allow to overwhelm him. Not here. Not now. “Oh. Oh, yes. I-”

“My ancestors had a similar trait to those of the last of Slytherin’s line: profligacy,” Lord Corfield carried on. “That is to say they were very wasteful with their money. Had no sense of frugality. Knew nothing about investments or the like. Believed they had an endless supply of galleons. Never once did it ever cross their minds that they would leave their descendants penniless and destitute by their endless splurging.” As he spoke, Lord Corfield waved his hand about and sneered. “Which they did. By the time my great-great grandfather was born, the ancient house of Corfield was a house of beggars on the street. Can I get you a drink, Mr. Potter?”

“Ah, no thank you,” Harry politely declined, but Lord Corfield was already turning away towards a tray of filled wineglasses that was weaving its way through the sardine packed ballroom. Lord Corfield grabbed two wine glasses and handed one of them to Harry. Having no other option, Harry took the proffered wine glass and thanked the man, all the while feeling greatly awkward.

He despised these functions. Always have. Always will. He had since learned to smile and nod though. After all, it was all about whom you knew. Connections. Connections. Connections. Since the end of the war almost a year ago, he had been to so many of these functions that he had since lost count.

At the ones hosted by the Ministry, he was always awarded some sort of honor or bestowed with yet another title. It was nothing more than a farce--just another way for the Ministry to proclaim to the masses that they had Harry Potter on their side. They were allies.

Whatever.

At least at the private functions he attended, the hosts did not pretend he had been invited for anything other than the prestige and rise in status they would receive when word spread that the Harry Potter had attended their party. He was there to be paraded around as if he were a priceless artifact.

It was all quite tedious at this point, but unavoidable.

“Anyway,” Lord Corfield took a sip of wine before continuing, “my great-great grandfather refused to live like a tramp. Refused to be poor. He vowed to return the Corfields to their place of honor and prestige. And he did. By the time he was thirty, the Corfields were once more one of the wealthiest families in all of Wizarding Britain. That is until my father became head of the family. He made some--unfortunate business transactions and investments and nearly lost the entire family fortune.”

_What a way to phrase it_ , Harry thought. What Lord Corfield was not saying was that his father had been a follower of Grindelwald and donated almost all of the family money to The Cause. It was one of those things nobody talked about and yet everyone knew about.

“I heard,” Harry said, “you are a self-made billionaire?”

Lord Corfield cocked a smug grin. “Once I became of age, by family tradition, I was made head of the family and given control over the family finances. At that time, I made some of my own business transactions and investments. Only, unlike my father, my business dealings helped save the manor where my father had nearly lost us the manor that his great grandfather had struggled to reclaim.”

Harry was impressed. The only business dealings he’d made were investing in Weasley Wizarding Wheezes and _The Quibbler_. His financial advisors and accountants took care of his finances and business dealings.

“Where is Ms. Weasley tonight by the way?” Lord Corfield inquired. “I was under the impression you would be arriving with your beautiful fiancée on your arm.”

“Sick,” was the automatic response. Harry didn’t bother to correct Lord Corfield that Ginny was not his fiancée--much to her chagrin. Turning away, Harry made a show of taking a sip of wine and used the opportunity to study the ballroom. The décor was very elaborate with its white marble, gold, crystal and mirrored surfaces.

“That’s a shame. I would have liked to meet the woman who has captured Harry Potter’s heart.” There was a mischievous twinkle in Lord Corfield’s eyes and a smirk upon his lips.

“Maybe next time,” Harry said as he turned back towards Lord Corfield.

“I will hold you to that,” Lord Corfield responded with a smile.

Harry inclined his head.

“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Lord Corfield said.

Harry really did not want to have this conversation because the truth of the matter was, things between he and Ginny had been strained lately.

“Just a little cold,” Harry replied.

It wasn’t an entire lie. Ginny had been sick over Christmas, or so he‘d been told by Ron. Harry had steered clear of the Burrow this year. He hadn’t wanted to fight with Ginny, which was inevitable nowadays when they got together. He’d also been avoiding her brothers who were annoyed with him for being such an “uncompromising wanker” among other things. You see, whatever problems he and Ginny were having was, of course, his fault. So, claiming Ginny was ill and unable to attend was better than admitting that he hadn’t even asked his girlfriend if she would like to attend Lord Corfield’s party with him.

He wasn’t even sure when it had started--when the two of them had began to grow apart.

First, there were the demons from the war that he was still dealing with, which thanks to Mind-Healer Albatross, were, bit by bit, abating.

Secondly, he’d agreed to testify as a character witness for the Malfoys at their trial this past summer, which was not something most of Wizarding Britain had appreciated, especially the Weasleys. During the trial, to add insult to injury, he and Draco had developed a friendship of sorts. To say that had not gone over well with Ginny would be an understatement.

Then he’d had the “audacity” to name Draco one of his heirs. Draco along with his godson Teddy would stand to inherit the Black fortune that Harry had inherited from Sirius in the event of his death. Ginny could not--refused to actually--understand why he would do something so “asinine”, but to him, it made perfect sense. Both Draco and Teddy were the last of the Blacks and as such, they had more right to the Black fortune than he did. This was why he hadn’t told anyone that if at the time of his death he had no children, Draco and Teddy would each inherit one-third of the Potter fortune as well. The remaining one-third would go to the Weaselys.

It didn’t help when rumors started--thanks to Rita Skeeter and her bold front-page headlines--that proclaimed Draco and him were having an illicit affair. According to Ms. Skeeter, the two of them being paramours was the “only explanation” for how close the two of them have become since the end of the war.

Ginny had demanded he stop hanging out with Draco at that point. He’d refused. She’d accused him of liking Draco more than her. He’d said that maybe he did. She’d said if he liked Draco so much maybe he should marry him. He said he just might. She’d called him a bastard as well as a variety of other things he was sure she learned from her six brothers. They haven’t spoken since.

Yes, he was well aware he was an idiot. Draco told him as much while at the same time smirking smugly at the admittance that Harry Potter had chosen him, Draco Malfoy, over the Weaselette.

When a bright flash accompanied by a cloud of black flash powder went off before him, ripping him forcibly from his thoughts, Harry knew that he’d had enough for one night--for the next millennium actually, but he knew he would have to partake in many more of these “parades” for the unforeseeable future. Nice.

Not only was he tired of the adulation shinning in the eyes of all those in the ballroom, of their bowing and whispering and roaming hands, but with the hundreds of bodies pressed up against him, Harry was finding it exceedingly difficult to breathe.

With spots dancing before his eyes from the damn cameras and their operators who did not seem to understand what personal space was, Harry muttered an, “Excuse me,” to those surrounding him before forcibly maneuvering his way out of the ballroom.

It wasn’t until later that he realized he wasn’t sure what had happened to his wine glass.

Once out of the sardine packed ballroom, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It was cooler in the hallway. It was also considerably less claustrophobic--not that he had an irrational fear of being in a confined or enclosed space. It was having his personal space compromised, of being surrounded, of hands reaching out towards him-

Harry gave a violent shake of his head and shoved the memories and the rising panic aside again.

Laughter floated towards him from the ballroom as did the sound of approaching voices accompanied by footsteps that grew louder--coming towards him, he realized. Harry couldn’t say why he panicked at that moment, but he did. All he knew was that he did not want to deal with anyone or anything.

Sometimes, he thought as he dashed through the twisting maze-like corridors of Corfield Manor as quiet as a ghost, he wondered what it would be like to be just Harry, if even for a moment.

 

* * *

 

Harry was not sure how long he had been walking by this point. If his aching feet were any indication, it’d been quite awhile.

A quick glance around made him realize he had absolutely no clue where he was or how to get back to the ballroom as one hallway looked like another. Retracing his path did little to nothing. He cursed silently. If Corfield Manor was like the Moving Staircases back at Hogwarts, someone was going to die. Hopefully that someone was not going to be him.

“Hello,” he called out. “Hello!”

Silence. Harry cursed again. This was just what he needed.

Combing his fingers through his short black locks, Harry sighed heavily as he scanned the silent, dark hallway. For the third time, he cursed. Making an executive decision, he walked to the nearest door. It was locked. He went to the next and the next until he found one that wasn’t locked. Of course, it hadn’t occurred to him that as a wizard, he could have just used magic.

He stepped into what turned out to be a bedroom. Judging by the lack of personal effects, Harry was assuming it was a guest room.

Against the wall opposite was a tall chiffrobe made from what appeared to be mahogany wood. He only knew what the strange piece of furniture was because he’d discovered one hidden under a drop cloth in the attic at Grimmauld Place when he‘d moved in last summer. To either side of the chiffrobe was a set of French doors that opened out onto a patio.

Beyond the patio, Harry could make out the manor grounds. At least he now knew, vaguely, where he was in relation to the ballroom.

The doors to the left of the chiffrobe were open. A ward or barrier of some sort had to be up because the chill December air had not seeped into the bedchamber. What was allowed to infiltrate was the moonlight.

The light from the moon was bright enough for Harry to make out a large four-poster bed sitting on a raised dais against the far wall to his left.

Across from the bed on the wall opposite was a brick fireplace that had been painted black. There was no mantel, but a large painting was hanging on the wall above the hearth. From where Harry stood, he could not make out what the painting was of, but he could see splashes of dark green amidst a sea of black.

Angled in front of the fireplace were green upholstered armchairs. A round side table sat sandwiched between the chairs. A black robe was casually draped over the back of the armchair closest to where Harry stood.

As he stepped further into the bedchamber, he noticed that except for the wall behind the bed where the paneling went from floor to ceiling, the lower half of the walls were covered in a rich wood paneling. The upper half of the walls was wallpapered in a Victorian-style green wall covering. It was too dark to make out what the designs on the wallpaper were.

The room definitely had a Slytherin-esque feel to it, but at the same time, it was also very masculine. He wouldn’t mind something like this at Grimmauld.

Movement on the patio drew Harry’s attention. His wand was in his hand immediately. Bracing himself, Harry pointed his wand towards the patio doors. The curse on his lips died when he recognized the blond haired man that stepped into view.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Harry breathed a sigh.

“Mr. Potter.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, replacing his wand in its hold around his wrist.

With a barely noticeable flick of his wrist, Lucius Malfoy had his wand in his hand. He pointed it over Harry’s shoulder and with a wave, the bedchamber door swung shut with a barely audible click behind Harry. “I could ask you the same thing,” Lucius returned.

Oddly enough, Harry hadn’t felt any sort of fear or panic when having been at the end of Lucius’ wand. He wondered why that was. Realizing it wasn’t something he felt comfortable dwelling on, he filed it away to deal with later--much later. Instead, he shifted restlessly and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling suddenly nervous for an inexplicable reason. “Well, I, uh,” Harry stuttered with an embarrassed laugh. “I was kinda-”

Lucius smirked. “Lost?” he suggested.

Harry blushed hotly. “Yeah.”

“Hm. Yes. Well that seems to happen quite often in Corfield Manor,” Lucius said as he stepped further into the bedchamber. With a second wave of his wand, he had a fire blazing in the fireplace. “Byron claims it to not be the case, but I believe the manor is enchanted.”

“Enchanted? You mean like the moving staircases at Hogwarts.”

“Exactly. As large as Corfield Manor is, it is not so large as for one to become so hopelessly lost and yet it happens more often than not,” Lucius explained as he stepped forward and placed his wand on the round side table.

Speaking of enchanted, Harry found himself oddly entranced by the elder Malfoy lord as said man stood before the fireplace. The light from the undulating flames lit his porcelain complexion, but left half of his tall, lean frame in shadow. Lucius Malfoy was an attractive man.

“I was actually just thinking that very same thing,” Harry admitted softly as some portion of him realized a response was needed, but did not quite remember why or to what.

Lucius’ white blond hair, as long as ever, was pulled back at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon that appeared to be made of either silk or satin. He had on a white button up dress shirt with ruffles around the wrists and down the front. It was tucked into fitted black slacks. Knee-high black heeled boots completed the ensemble. The first thought that popped into Harry’s head was that Lucius looked like a Musketeer. All that was missing was the feathered hat and the blue tunic. Harry had to chock back a laugh. He had a feeling Lucius would not appreciate neither the laughter nor the comparison. What Harry did not see was the iconic snakehead cane. In fact, Harry could not remember the last time he had seen it.

“Indeed?”

The sound of Lucius’ highbred drawl shook Harry from his spellbound examination of the aristocrat. Catching the amused smirk on Lucius’ face, Harry was mortified to realize that he’d been caught ogling the man. His face burst into flames of embarrassment.

Lucius chuckled.

Harry’s embarrassment intensified.

It was only then that his mind registered that Lucius had called their host by his given name, which was something Lucius hardly ever did as Harry had learned since befriending Draco. Harry latched onto this bit of information and ran with it--if only to forget his embarrassment. “If I may be permitted to ask, how are you acquainted with Lord Corfield?”

“Well,” Lucius stated, “Bryon and I are--old friends.” He was immensely pleased with the transformation Harry seemed to be undergoing thanks to his association with Draco. From an ill-mannered, ill-bred oaf to a well-mannered, highly respectful young man.

Harry did not need Hermione to know what Lucius meant by he and Lord Corfield being “old friends”. “Oh.” He was unsure what else to say.

Awkward!

“When he learned that Narcissa and I were having marital problems, he graciously offered the use of Corfield Manor for as long as it was needed,” Lucius continued. “I accepted, of course, and choose the guest room farthest from the main section of the manor. By a stroke of luck, it was one of the few equipped with its own private bath, as well as a private patio that has access to the grounds.”

“Well, it’s a beautiful room, Lucius.” Too late, Harry realized the slip of tongue. He mentally slapped himself. Idiot!

Lucius cocked an eyebrow at the informality.

“I was sorry to hear from Draco about you and Mrs. Malfoy’s separation,” Harry continued, deciding to pretend the slip never happened.

“Yes, well,” Lucius waved a hand in a nonchalant arc, “unfortunately, these things happen, especially after such a devastating war. Such conflict has a way of either bringing people together or ripping them apart.”

Harry nodded sadly at the truth of that statement.

“Speaking of which, I heard from my son that you and Ms. Weasley have been having some troubles of your own.”

Harry shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. He turned towards the fireplace, becoming mesmerized by the sensual hypnotic dance of the flames. Ginny and he have been having problems since they got back together last spring and the problems did not appear as if they were going to settle themselves anytime soon. Part of him wondered if it wasn’t all for the best.

Turning away from the fireplace, he was startled by the blue-gray depths of Lucius’ eyes staring intently back at him. Those were the same eyes Draco had he realized. They reminded Harry of a mood ring he once found when he was little that Dudley had subsequently destroyed. Like the mood ring, he had noticed since befriending Draco that the hue of the color varied depending on Draco’s mood and even what Draco wore. Sometimes, the color was bluer and other times it was more of a gray. There were even times when it was a wondrous mix of the two shades. It was fascinating to watch the hue change and morph.

Harry, in all honesty, could not understand what enthralled him so much about Draco and now Lucius’ eyes. He’d never paid much attention to people’s eyes before--with the obvious exception being himself and Voldemort. Everybody was always telling him how very much like Lily’s his eyes were and Voldemort’s were distinctive for obvious reasons.

Just what was it about the Malfoys? It wasn’t as if their eye color was unusual, extraordinary, or remarkable in any way. Maybe it had to do with the dark spot in Lucius’ right eye that Draco had inherited. It was tiny, nearly unnoticeable, and resembled a freckle. Or maybe his fascination had to do with the way those blue-gray eyes seem to peer right into a person’s very soul.

Whatever it was, it kept Harry distracted long enough to allow Lucius to violate Harry’s personal space without him realizing it. The moment Harry realized just how close Lucius had become was the same moment Lucius lifted a hand to Harry’s cheek. Instead of freaking out and fleeing from the foreign touch, or having a full blown panic attack at having his personal space violated like he normally did, Harry found himself leaning into the touch. His eyes fluttered shut almost of their own accord.

The eyes Harry loved so very much were riveted on Harry’s lush red lips. With his hand still connected to Harry’s cheek, which had grown warm beneath Lucius’ palm, Lucius reached out with his thumb and stroked Harry’s lips.

What was he doing? Lucius hadn’t the faintest clue. Yes, he found Harry attractive. Harry has grown into a fine young man. There was no disputing that, so it was no wonder that Lucius found himself fantasizing about Harry. About kissing those lips, of touching that body, of caressing it and biting it and sucking it, and fucking that tight ass, of tasting the sweet nectar from the forbidden fruit.

A shudder sizzled through Lucius.

Oh, yes. He wanted that very much. Just the thought of taking Harry, of consuming him, almost had him coming.

Something was holding him back, though. What was it? The answer came to him swiftly. Draco. His son. Lucius knew all about how his heir felt about the Boy-Who-Lived even if Draco would never admit it. If Lucius were to act like the Slytherin Pureblood he was, he would not care about Draco’s silly little crush and take what he wanted regardless of Draco being flesh and blood, but Lucius was trying to make amends with his son. He did not want to do anything that could possibly compromise an already shaky relationship.

At the same time, Lucius was lonely.

Narcissa and he had not only been lovers and husband and wife, they had been best friends. Their marriage may have been arranged, but Lucius had fallen madly in love with her and her him. Even now, he still loved her and why shouldn’t he? Narcissa had been the one to decide on the trial separation not he. He would have been perfectly content in allowing Narcissa to remain at his side for the rest of his life, but one day she surprised him by saying, “I need some space.” Lucius understood, though. So much had transpired in such a short time, most--if not all--of it due to his incompetence. Giving his wife the space she so desperately needed also afforded him the same opportunity.

What he‘d discovered instead was loneliness, but it wasn’t until now that he realized just how alone he’d been. He ached for companionship; any sort of companionship. He wanted to feel as if he weren’t the last man on Earth at least for one night.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he and Harry had to announce in The Daily Prophet they had slept together. They were both adults here. Nobody need know what happened behind these locked doors tonight.

With his thumb, Lucius drew Harry’s bottom lip down.

“Luc?” whispered a husky voice from those oh so kissable lips.

Lucius lifted his gaze from Harry’s lips and found those Avada Kedarva eyes trained on him. They held so much intensity. There was also something else hidden within their smoldering depths. It forced Lucius to shudder again. He embraced the feeling.

Their gazes locked, Lucius brought his other hand up and gently held Harry’s blushing face between his hands.

“Push me away,” Lucius whispered as his head descended. As much as Lucius wanted this, he was giving Harry the opportunity to back out. As Lucius himself was not thinking clearly enough to consider the consequences of one night of forbidden passion with the young man before him, he had to hope Harry could.

“Why?” Harry whispered against Lucius’ lips, which were a hairsbreadth from his own.

A nagging voice at the back of Harry’s mind was screeching at him, demanding he cease and desist right this second. As in now! It was telling him that he would wake in a world of regret come morning. That giving in to his raging libido--and dear Merlin was it ever--and granting his small head the chance to make all the decisions would have unforeseen repercussions. He knew that. Realistically. But for once, his Gryffindor and Slytherin sides were in complete agreement about something and that something was Lucius Malfoy, so the niggling doubts were easily ignored. Besides, what was wrong with one night of passion with an extremely attractive man?

“I don’t know,” Lucius answered as he swooped in and kissed Harry.

To what question Lucius was answering, Harry could no longer remember and frankly, he could care less. All thought vanished the instant their lips connected.

It was a chaste press of lips, but it had Harry shuddering. His body tingled and throbbed in places and in ways it never had before, not even with Ginny. In fact, as Lucius’ lips moved sweetly against Harry’s, Ginevra Weasley was the farthest thing from Harry’s mind.

Ginny who?

A stray and random thought entered Harry’s mind. Lucius smelled of musk, cinnamon and vanilla.

Harry wrapped his arms around Lucius’ shoulders as the kiss deepened. Neither man knew who initiated it. Neither man much cared.

Harry opened his mouth willingly for Lucius who eagerly plundered the moist cavern with relish.

Rising up on his tiptoes, Harry pressed his body against Lucius’. They aligned perfectly. He could feel the older man’s excitement against his own. It had Harry moaning into Lucius’ mouth.

His roaming hands found the ribbon that held Lucius’ blond locks in check. Not anymore, he thought with almost sadistic glee as he yanked on it. The ribbon, which turned out to be satin, slipped from Harry’s fingers. It fluttered to the floor, forgotten. Harry threaded his fingers through Lucius’ silken locks.

Lucius moaned. His hair had always been one of his weaknesses.

Following suit, he slipped one hand behind Harry’s head and threaded his fingers through the short raven locks. He gave an experimental tug, smirking smugly when this move caused Harry to gasp most erotically. Lucius snaked his other arm around Harry’s waist and down his lower back where he grabbed a handful of the younger man’s firm, round ass. He kneaded the globe, causing Harry to purr. Lucius thrust a knee between Harry’s legs, rubbing against the hardness he found against his thigh.

Harry cried out. Tightening his hold on Lucius, he ground his throbbing erection against Lucius’ leg with a throaty moan. He could get off just like this, he realized. “Luc,” he moaned as Lucius rained kisses up Harry’s jaw to his ear where he suckled gently on the lobe, and then did the same to his neck.

Just about ready to burst, Lucius pulled back from Harry enough to admire the red mark on the side of Harry’s neck. He felt a barbaric sense of pride at the sight.

Harry pouted and whined at the loss.

Smirking, Lucius grabbed Harry’s hips and whispered with a hint of amusement, “So impatient.”

Harry shivered.

Lucius chuckled deeply. Their equally smoldering, lust filled eyes locked in as passionate a battle as their tongues had been mere moments before, Lucius backed Harry towards the bed. They maneuvered together perfectly in sync as if they had done this many times before. Together, they rounded the bed.

Having forgotten it was there, Harry stumbled over the raised dais the bed sat on. Blushing in embarrassment, he thanked Lucius as the man steadied him.

“Anytime,” Lucius whispered.

Harry’s blush deepened.

Lucius lifted Harry up onto the dais and gently guided him down on the bed. Lucius followed. He draped himself over Harry.

Feeling Lucius’ erection pressing against his own had Harry throbbing in want. It also had the blush that seemed to have become a semi-permanent fixture on his face going nova. Unable to bear the heated look upon Lucius’ face, he turned his head to the side, turning his attention to the unknown landscape portrait hanging on the wall.

The movement unveiled the reddened mark on Harry’s neck and Lucius took the opportunity to deepen it. As he was making love to Harry’s neck, he cupped Harry through his black pressed suit pants. Harry cried out beneath him and arched into his touch. Meanwhile, Lucius’ other hand loosened Harry’s black tie. By the time Lucius pulled away, Harry was panting and moaning and wriggling under him. Lucius groaned at the friction.

Capturing Harry’s lips, he plunged his tongue past Harry’s ruby red and swollen lips into Harry’s mouth. He stroked Harry’s tongue with his own, luring it to come and play. And play it did. It did not take long for Harry, who had wrapped himself around Lucius like a koala, to fight Lucius for dominance. Lucius easily won.

Pulling back, Lucius started to unbutton Harry’s dark violet dress shirt, covering every inch of skin that was revealed in a multitude of kisses and caresses and nips and strokes of his tongue. When he arrived at Harry’s navel, he nuzzled his face in the coarse black hair that disappeared under his pants.

“Are you sure you’re not a redhead?” Lucius inquired, his voice muffled against the tented pants of the man beneath him. He was referring, of course, to Lily Potter nee Evans who had been a genuine redhead and not a god-awful ginger like the Weaselys.

The reverberations of Lucius’ voice against the clothed, but straining cock had Harry crying out. “Why don’t you find out?” he panted, his voice thick with desire and not sounding like his own.

Lucius’ blue-gray eyes flashed at the challenge. “Gladly.”

Harry moaned at the near growl Lucius‘ voice had become and shifted restlessly.

Chuckling darkly, Lucius sat up and straddled Harry’s thighs. He yanked Harry’s shirt out of his pants none too gently and unfastened the remaining buttons, practically ripping the shirt in his haste.

Sitting up, Harry slipped off the shirt and tossed it over his shoulder. He did not watch to see where it landed.

As Harry lay back, Lucius worked on the three buttons of Harry’s pants. Then he grabbed the metal pull of the zipper.

He locked eyes with Harry.

Harry licked his lips. His emerald eyes were almost black with desire.

Lucius’ gaze never wavered as he lowered the zipper.

“Lucius,” Harry moaned.

Said man crawled down Harry’s legs to the foot of the bed and peeled Harry’s pants off. He tossed the offending piece of clothing over his shoulder. Because he was otherwise preoccupied, it hadn’t occurred to him that Harry’s pants had been so easy to take off because somewhere along the line Harry had rid himself of his shoes. Harry himself could not remember what he’d done with them.

The sight of the engorged cock saluting him had Lucius coming slightly. He had to admit that never happened before, not even with Narcissa.

“Commando Potter?” Lucius managed to say after several failed attempts at speech. It was hard to speak let alone think because of the glorious sight before him.

His face most likely resembling a boiled lobster by now, Harry answered by drawing his knees up and spreading himself open.

Lucius wasted no time. He slid off the bed and divested himself of his clothing. He gave no thought to where they landed or in what condition his animalistic frenzy had taken on them.

Crawling back onto the bed, he kneeled in-between Harry’s legs and buried his face in the thick, coarse pubic hair that encased Harry’s pulsating and weeping cock.

Harry’s eyes rolled back. He fought not to buck his hips wildly. The effort had him sweating and the death grip on the covers beneath him was turning his knuckles white. Keening noises rumbled deep in his throat.

Rising up so that he was on his hands and knees over Harry, Lucius took his full of the man beneath him. The toned, muscled body, flat abdomen, the leaking cock, the quivering legs. “So beautiful.”

Before Harry could process what Lucius said, Lucius was kissing him again.

Lucius caressed a path down Harry’s chest to his cock and back up.

Breaking free of the kiss, Harry tossed his head back and cried out as Lucius wrapped his hand around his aching cock.

Licking his lips, Lucius stared at the long creamy expanse of Harry’s throat. He watched, memorized, as Harry’s Adam’s apple bopped. Lucius leaned down and lightly nipped at Harry’s throat. At the same time, he gave a few experimental tugs on Harry’s cock.

The result was instantaneous. Harry climaxed. It wasn’t unexpected as he’d nearly comed several times that night already, but it was more intense than any other he’d had before, self-induced or not. It swept through him like a storm. His back arched off the bed. It curled his toes. His head was thrown back. His mouth opened in a silent scream and his vision went black.

Temporarily sated, Harry flopped bonelessly back onto the bed. His pulse racing, his breath ragged, Harry came back to himself in time to watch Lucius stroking himself. Harry groaned at the sight. It had him hardening.

Lucius smirked.

When he was sufficiently lubricated, Lucius wove his arms under Harry’s knees and grabbing his hips, lifted Harry’s lower half up off the bed. Lucius aligned himself. With the head of his cock resting against Harry’s anus, which Harry had clenched involuntarily with a quick indrawn breath, Lucius glanced up the sweat and come slickened chest into those green eyes that blazed with a mixture of lust and fear.

“Are you sure?” Lucius asked. His voice sounded deeper, huskier.

“Fuck yes,” Harry moaned.

That was all the incentive Lucius needed. Slowly, he pushed into the tight heat. It was slow going, but Lucius was surprisingly patient. He whispered soothing words to the younger man as Harry hissed and pain flashed across his face. Every time Harry clenched down around him, Lucius would wince, feeling as if he were slowly being strangled, but he would continue to whisper words of comfort and massage Harry’s thighs. He would distract Harry from the pain and discomfort by playing with his balls or his nipples or blow gently into his navel.

When Lucius was in as far as he could go, he paused to catch his breath. He was not sure how long he’d be able to last. He’d been near to bursting before. But that was all right. They had all night.

Lucius paused a moment to study his young lover. Harry’s face was scrunched in discomfort and slight pain, but not once did Harry tell him to stop.

Leaning forward, Lucius kissed away a tear that had become trapped in the corner of Harry’s eye. When he pulled back, Harry was watching him.

They exchanged a smile.

Lucius cupped Harry’s cheek and pressed their lips together in a brief chaste kiss. Sitting up, he gripped Harry’s hips firmly and slowly started to withdraw.

As the immense pressure from having Lucius’ sizable cock inside him subsided, Harry released the death grip on the dark green satiny down comforter beneath him.

Then with a snap of his hips, Lucius thrust back into Harry, forcing out a passionate cry from the younger male.

Any lingering pain was quickly replaced with wave after wave of pleasure and forgotten. A rhythm was set, then broken and reset.

Harry met Lucius’ thrusts head on.

As Harry was rocked, sometimes forcibly, sometimes lovingly, his grunts and moans and nonsensical utterances mingled with those from Lucius. The bed creaked violently beneath them. The headboard thwacked the wall behind it in an un-eurhythmic rhythm. Harry clawed at any and all available surfaces including Lucius.

The pressure built and built until it exploded and before the high could die completely, it was built back up. The cycle continued long into the night.

Not once could Harry admit to thinking about Ginny that night. Nor could he say he regretted sleeping with Lucius Malfoy. Not that night, the next morning or a month later.

 

* * *

 

**1st January - Dawn - Corfield Manor**

The sun was just beginning to peak above the horizon, turning the sky a deep pink color when a figure could have been seen by any resident within Corfield Manor who happened to be watching at that moment. None were. The only occupants who played witness to the retreating figure were the house-elves who were up and about, but they knew of the heroics and bravery of this man and with his association with Dobby and Kreature--house-elves who went over and above the call of duty for their master during the war--and promised not to say anything.

The figure darted down the gravel path as quick and silent as a ghost. It slipped past the twenty-foot high wrought iron gates that were still propped open and paused. Emerald eyes peered out from under the shadows of the hood and gazed back at the silent manor with a smile before disapparating.

 

* * *

 

**Several Hours Later**

It was considerably late when Lucius rose the next morning. A quick _tempus_ confirmed it. At half past nine, the morning was a few short hours away from dying. If it weren’t so uncouth, he would swear at the wastefulness. Knowing that he’d only just fallen asleep as the sun was beginning to rise above the horizon was no excuse. Lucius could honestly say that he had never slept in a day in his life, not even while on his honeymoon with Narcissa.

Stretching, Lucius sat up. The comforter pooled at his waist. He shivered as the cool air hit his naked torso. The fire had long since died and the house-elves had not relit it as of yet. It was only then that he realized that not only was he not wearing a nightshirt, he was not wearing anything at all. He was naked. He never slept naked. Why was he-? It took several moments to remember why he had no clothes on. When he did, a rare genuine smile crossed his face.

He’d spent the entire evening and into the very early morning making love to Harry Potter.

Lucius turned to gaze down upon his young, vivacious and insatiable lover only to find that said lover was no longer in bed besides him. Lucius’ smile faltered and fell. “Harry,” he called out. Silence answered him. A quick scan told him what he’d already begun to suspect. Harry’s clothes were missing and with them Harry. He noted that his clothing were folded and neatly piled at the foot of the bed.

_It was for the best_ , he decided as he tossed back the covers and slid from the bed. Summoning his robe, Lucius wrapped himself in its silkiness and called for a house-elf. When one appeared moments later, he ordered it to light the fire and to have his breakfast--which usually consisted of a poached egg, fresh fruit, English muffin, ham and tea--ready when he finished his shower.

“Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir.” It bowed so lowly that its long ears and spindly nose brushed the floor.

Lucius cocked an eyebrow at the androgynous house-elf when the small magical creature remained shuffling before him instead of doing as it was ordered. “Well?”

“Logy has message from Mr. Potter for Master Malfoy, sir.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes sir,” Logy said, pulling a folded piece of parchment from within his uniform. “Mr. Potter gives it to Logy to gives to Master Malfoy, sir.”

Lucius took the proffered parchment. He recognized the handwriting right away. It was from Harry. Nobody else Lucius knew had such horrendous calligraphy. No. It shouldn’t even be considered calligraphy for calligraphy was beautiful and artistic. This was chicken scratch. It wasn’t as illegible as a Healer’s was, but it was close. Unfolding the note, Lucius read the brief sentence.

“ _Thank you_ ,” it read.

A smile crept upon Lucius’ usually cold visage. It was the umpteenth time since Harry graced him with his presence late last evening that he’d smiled. In was unheard of.

Lucius was no fool. Neither was Harry. They’d both known exactly what they’d been getting themselves into last night and what it meant--or didn’t mean as the case may be, which Lucius expected was why Harry had left before Lucius had risen; no awkward morning after. One night. That was all either of them had been looking for. A single night of forbidden pleasure and fantasy. A chance to be free from the restrictions. To erase the loneliness each felt. Neither had been looking for anything more than that.

Even if they had, Lucius knew it never would have worked out between them for many reasons.

Refolding the unsigned note, Lucius slid it into an inner pocket of his robe and strode into the bathroom with a smirk on his lips, a song in his heart and a skip in his steps--none of which he would never admit to.

 

* * *

 

**7th February - 12 Grimmauld Place - London, England**

Before the Second Wizard War, the section of the city where the Black family residence was located had not been the most inviting place to live let alone the ideal place to start and raise a family, which was probably why the Blacks had relocated here. Though why a Dark family who hated and despised Muggles would decide to live in the heart of said Muggles was beyond Harry. Then again, the Blacks, like the Gaunts, were all a bit insane--the result of too much inbreeding; so no decision made by them made any logical sense.

The area had not fallen so far as to be called a ghetto, but it had been a slum, but over the last year, the neighborhood has been undergoing an extraordinary rejuvenation. Harry could not say for certain what the catalyst was, but he did find it coincidental that the rebirth happened at the same time as the renovations to 12 Grimmauld Place.

The park across the street had been cleaned up and rededicated to a Sister whom had been mugged, raped and then beaten to death a decade ago right there in that very park. The street was torn up and repaved. New sidewalks were put in. The turn of the century streetlights, which had not worked in over fifty years, were repaired. The graffiti and garbage was cleaned up. There was a police presence in the neighborhood. All the riffraff was chased out. And young families were moving in.

When Harry had informed Sirius’ mother about the transformation, she went postal.

The makeover was not only happening to the neighborhood. 12 Grimmauld Place was undergoing its own facelift, much to the displeasure of Mrs. Black and Kreacher.

Kreacher had been easy to placate thankfully. All Harry had to do was promise to transform the attic into a sort of Black shrine/museum that also served as quarters for Kreature and any other house-elf Harry might acquire in the future. Kreacher had been beside himself at the announcement.

The mounted heads of past Black family house-elves that climbed the wall besides the staircase, Mrs. Black’s portrait as well as the entirety of Regulus Black’s bedroom (as is) was transported up to the attic along with the Black family tree tapestry. Harry had wanted to toss the tapestry into the Black family vault at Gringotts with a bunch of other knick knacks Harry deemed were too dangerous to keep around the house, but Kreacher had thrown a hissy fit so into the attic it went. It hadn’t been an easy transference seeing as everything he’d wanted to move into the attic had been stuck in place with permanent sticking charms, but as he’d discovered, nothing was permanent. Not even a permanent sticking charm.

Other than the renovations to the attic, the exterior of 12 Grimmauld Place had been power washed. Harry tried not to dwell on what had come loose from the façade of the house in the process.

All the doors as well as the windows had been replaced. To the disgust of Mrs. Black, the replacements were just as Muggle in origin as the ones they were replacing, which Harry believed had been original to the house.

The backyard had undergone the most change by far. It’d been completely ripped up. It’d looked like a construction site, which in a way it had been, for quite some time. The ground had been leveled--it’d been hillier than a group of fairy mounds--and the flagstones had been replaced. With the help of Neville, the overgrown garden had been tamed. All the dangerous man-eating plants had been removed and plants that are more innocuous had been planted in their places. Kreacher was even growing some vegetables.

Harry had also assigned a standing order to the decrepit house-elf: he was to recover everything the Order and Mundungus had pilfered. _“Whatever it takes, Kreacher,”_ was what Harry had said. Harry could honestly say he had never seen a more sadistic expression than the one he had seen cross Kreacher’s face at that moment.

The exterior was not the only changes taking place to 12 Grimmauld Place. The interior was in the process of being renovated as well. The first rooms Harry tackled were Sirius’ old bedroom that Harry had confiscated as his own as well as the kitchen and bathroom.

Next on the agenda was to knock down some walls to create a foyer and widen the hallway off the nonexistent entrance hall. Whoever thought it was an ingenious idea to create such a long, tight, claustrophobic space right off the front door was an idiot. There was not a day that went by that Harry did not have to fight off at least one panic attack when he strolled through that damnedable hall. Of course, it did have its advantage. Such a narrow space made it easier to fend off intruders, but that was all it had going for it.

That was where Randall Tiberius Vanderheite came in. This thirty-eight year old squib owned and ran a contracting company. The only son of a pureblood couple, Randall had no qualms about who he hired--squibs, witches, wizards, even Muggle relatives of Muggleborns--as long as those he hired were hardworking. Randall’s company worked on both Muggle dwellings as well as wizarding ones. The wizarding community had mostly ostracized Randall because of his standing as a squib. That is until Harry Potter decided that despite Randall’s inability to use magic, he was one of the best contractors in the area. Now Randall had more business than he knew what to do with.

“As you can see,” Randall was explaining to Harry early one February morning in the entrance hall, “this wall here,” he pointed to the wall on his left, “will be taken down in order to created the new foyer.”

“Right.” Harry nodded as he studied the blueprints.

“Like I said before, in order to create the foyer, we’ll have to take space from the drawing room on the other side.”

Harry waved his hand in a nonchalant arc that was a perfect imitation of Lucius Malfoy. This went unnoticed by both men. “That’s fine,” he told his contractor. “As long as you can open up the front hall.” The room Randall was speaking of was where the Black family tree tapestry used to hang.

“Easily done.”

“Good.”

“Now, it turns out that this wall is load bearing,” Randall continued.

Harry frowned as disappointment swirled within him. “I thought you couldn’t remove those.”

“Oh, no, you can. It’s just a little more complicated than just taking a sledgehammer to the wall, but it is doable.”

“How so?”

“To remove a bearing wall,” Randall explained, “like this one here, we have to have adequate re-support in place first otherwise the entire house will come crashing down on our heads.”

“That would be bad,” Harry said dryly.

Randall chuckled. “Just a little, but like I said, it can be done.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. How will this affect removing it?”

“First, we have to make sure there aren’t any electrical lines or plumbing or some sort of column-”

“Columns?”

“It’s happens,” Randall said. “We were working on this one home a few years back that had been hacked up into apartments for as long as anyone could remember. The new owner decided to convert the building into a single-family dwelling. When we started knocking down walls, we actually found an archway hidden in one wall as well as marble columns in another.” He shrugged. “You never know what you’ll find.”

“Wow. Apparently.”

“We’ll call in an electrician and or a plumber if need be to deal with those issues if they come up. If we find any kind of hidden architecture-?”

“Like hidden archways or columns?”

“Exactly.”

Harry shrugged. He was not sure anything of the sort was hiding within the walls of this place, but if it were, they’d deal with it then.

“Alright. To safely remove the wall, because of its load bearing nature, without having the entirety of the house crashing down around us, we’ll have to design a proper replacement--a beam of some sort. First, we have to build a temporary wall on either side of this wall,” Randall said, jerking his chin towards the wall in question, “deal with any electrical or plumbing or whatever else we find and then insert the replacement beam in the ceiling. Then the temp walls can be taken down and we can finish the expansion.”

Harry was nodding; grateful he didn’t have to abort his plans.

“Now.” Randall rolled up the blueprints for the new entrance hall into a tube and set them on the floor against the wall. Underneath those were another set. These were for the formal dining room. “For the dining room, we were talking about--Harry? Are you alright?”

While Randall was speaking, Harry’s face had taken on a waxen sheen. Without a word, Harry slapped a hand over his mouth and bolted down the hall. Randall dropped the proposal for the restoration for the dining room and followed Harry. He wanted to make sure the young Savior was all right.

Randall found Harry bent over the toilet down the hall.

“Are you alright?” he asked in concern. “Should I call a Healer or-?”

“No,” Harry groaned, spitting into the toilet. “I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. He would be fine in a few minutes. This has been happening for the last few weeks. He’d be fine one minute, nauseous the next and fine again the minute after that.

Flushing the toilet, Harry stood on unsteady legs and walked to the sink. He washed his hands and face and rinsed out his mouth, all the while aware of Randall’s worried gaze trained on him.

“I’m fine,” Harry reiterated. He gave Randall what he hoped was a reassuring smile in the mirror.

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

Harry nodded.

“Well, ah, if you’re up to it, I can show you what I’ve come up with for the dining room based on what we talked about the other week.”

“Let’s go,” Harry agreed with rising excitement.

With a nod, Randall exited the bathroom first.

Harry made to follow, but paused shortly in the threshold between the bathroom and the hall. A hand drifted to his abdomen. He wondered.

 

**…To Be Continued…**


	2. Forbidden Voice’s Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Poem at the beginning is “The Flea” by John Donne. Inserted within the story is the poem “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost.

_Confess it, this cannot be said_   
_A sin, or shame, or loss of maidenhead,_   
_Yet this enjoys before it woo,_   
_And pampered swells with one blood made of two,_   
_And this, alas, is more than we would do._

- **From “The Flea” by John Donne**

* * *

 

**Chapter 2: Forbidden Voice’s Consequences**

**7th February - 12 Grimmauld Place - London, England**

Standing on the front stoop, shivering as the chill February air enveloped his body, Harry watched Randall make his way down the front walk to his truck parked at the curb in front of the house. He held his hand up in return as Randall turned and waved one last time before hopping into his truck. The roar of the truck’s engine muffled the silence of the neighborhood and then Harry was watching the taillights fade away.

Frozen to the bone, Harry retreated into the warmth of the house. He exhaled a grateful sigh as immediately he began to unthaw. Shutting the front door, he turned the deadbolt. The tumblers shifted and clanked loudly in the silence. He felt the wards fall back into place at the same time.

There was an almost silent pop behind him. “Kreacher was asked to remind Master that Mistress Black and Master’s godson will be joining Master for dinner.”

Groaning, Harry dropped his forehead against the door with a thud and a wince. He clamped his eyes shut and brought a hand to his churning stomach. He had actually forgotten that he had invited Andromeda and Teddy over for dinner. With the way his stomach was rebelling at the moment, he was not sure how much of dinner he would be able to keep down. The idea of getting sick in front of Andy and Teddy was not a fetching one. It would lead to questions he could not answer.

Turning his head, Harry stared over his shoulder into the parlor. It happened to be the only empty room in Grimmauld Place at the moment. When his emerald gaze landed on the cold hearth of the fireplace, he bit his lip.

At first, he’d just passed his nauseousness of as a passing stomach bug. He’d never really been sick before but there was a first time for everything, especially since this winter seemed to be so much colder than usual. But as the weeks passed and the nausea did not subside, Harry had begun to grow suspicious. It was time to figure out just what was wrong with him and the only person he knew who could help him without launching into a spontaneous game of Twenty Questions was Madam Pomfrey. That was what he needed at the moment: answers not the hot seat.

Pushing away from the door, Harry walked down the hall, bypassing the parlor, towards the kitchen. Vaguely, he noted that Kreacher was nowhere to be seen. Making his way through the newly remodeled and modernized kitchen, he headed towards the fireplace. Grabbing a handful of floo powder from the sterling silver candy dish on the mantel, Harry paused briefly and wondered if this really was a good idea.

So he’s been feeling a bit nauseous. That didn’t mean anything. Not really. Right? It was nothing. Just a little stomach bug. It happens to everyone. Ginny herself had apparently been sick over Christmas.

Shaking himself, Harry shook his wand into his hand and cast an _incendio_ at the stack of new logs. He hummed in pleasure at the feel of the heat against his face. Sighing, he crouched before the undulating flames and tossed the floo powder into the fire. Watching as the flames flared green in reaction, he called out in a clear and calm voice, “Hogwarts. Hospital wing,” before sticking his head into the green fire. He was forced to close his eyes against the dizzying feeling.

“Mr. Potter?”

The familiar voice brought a smile to Harry’s face. Opening his eyes, he looked upon the wizarding matron who appeared to be shocked to see him; or his head at least. “Hello Madam Pomfrey,” he greeted. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Potter,” Pomfrey said. “What can I do for you? Were you trying to contact Minerva?”

Harry shook his head. “No, actually, I was looking for you.”

“Oh? What can I do for you?”

“I’m, uh…” At that moment, Harry was thankful that floo calling gave his features a green tint because this way, Madam Pomfrey would not be able to notice how flushed he was. She’d probably misinterpret it as him having a fever when in reality he just thought he was being ridiculous. “I was wondering if you could help me find a Healer or Mediwitch or whatever.” He still wasn‘t sure what the difference between the two was. Were they two different titles that referred to the same magical medical personnel; or was a Healer the magical equivalent of a doctor and a Mediwitch the magical equivalent of a nurse? And why did they not teach these types of things in school? It would be more useful than learning how to turn a rat into water goblet. “I don’t have any particular preference as to where they practice as long as they’re competent and could be discreet.” The last thing he wanted was to wake up the morning after his appointment to screaming headlines.

Harry could not remember ever having seen a doctor while living with the Dursleys other than an optometrist that one time--and that was only because the school had sent a note home explaining that he needed glasses--and the school nurse. He’d never had a primary care physician or a family doctor like Hermione said she’d had. Once he’d reentered the Wizarding World, he hadn’t even thought about finding a family Healer. He‘d been too busy trying to stay alive for one thing. Besides, what child worries about nonsense like that? That being the case, he had no idea where to even begin as the only Mediwitch he really knew was Madam Pomfrey.

“Sure. What type of Healer were you looking for?”

Harry was blinking at the woman in confusion. “What type?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter, what type,” she confirmed patiently. “Like in the Muggle world, the medical personnel here in the Wizarding World specialize in different branches of medicine. Did you need a family Healer or a specialty Healer?”

“Uhm, well…I‘m-I‘m not sure.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded. Settling herself onto a chair she rolled before the fire, she asked him to explain what symptoms he was displaying. “That way, I can get a better understanding of what Healer you should go see.”

Nodding, Harry bit his lip and stared passed Madam Pomfrey’s shoulder.

Seeing his hesitation and even his fear, Madam Pomfrey dropped her voice. “You can trust me, Mr. Potter. Nothing you say will leave this room.”

Harry nodded again then found he couldn’t stop. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, held it for a ten-count and then with a silent curse, decided to just blurt it out. “I think I’m pregnant.”

There was silence and then, “Oh my.”

 

* * *

 

**16th February - 12 Grimmauld Place - London, England**

With his arms folded behind his head, Harry lay on his bed staring blankly up at the ceiling. Unfortunately, his mind was not as empty as his gaze was. The wheels were spinning wildly.

Madam Pomfrey had recommended a Keisha Iriye who had her own practice in Opulentus Alley, which she explained was an affluent wizarding shopping district. “Healer Iriye is well known for her overtly strict confidentiality agreements that all her employees have to swear when they are hired. Breaking the taboo has serious consequences,” she’d said.

Harry had immediately floo called Healer Iriye that same afternoon. Thankfully, she’d had an opening.

A tapping sound at the window drew his attention. He winced, muttering a curse under his breath. It was Ginny’s owl.

He still hadn’t said anything about his little indiscretion to his girlfriend. Heck, he wasn’t even sure if he and Ginny were still dating seeing as they hadn’t spoken since well before Christmas. He hadn’t even gone to Hogsmeade for Valentine’s Day a couple days ago like they‘d planned back in September.

Was that why he hadn’t said anything about what happened at Lord Corfield’s New Years Eve Ball between Draco’s father and him? If he and Ginny were no longer a couple, then the fact that he slept with Lucius was none of her business. Or was he just scared of her reaction? Could it be a combination of the two?

Either way, he found he did not regret sleeping with Lucius despite knowing that not only had he cheated on his girlfriend, but also possibly something other than a single night of forbidden passion had been achieved. Though that was not to say he did not feel guilty for being unfaithful because he did. How could he not? He loved Ginny. No matter what happened between the two of them, he would always love her. He was certain about that. He could see spending the rest of his life with her. They would get married and have a family. He could see him and Ginny growing old together and watching as their children had children of their own.

The future had been planned out so perfectly. The path ahead had been so clear, but everything had changed with that one act on New Years Eve. Thick fog had descended and obscured the view. Now he had no idea what the future held. It was all about the road not taken.

“‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - / I took the one less traveled by,’” Harry recited from memory. _It just might make all the difference_ , he thought with a sigh.

Sitting up, Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself off. He padded across the room to the window where the familiar owl sat waiting impatiently. When he opened the window to allow the owl inside, a wicked wind burst forth, bringing with it a flurry of snow. Harry shivered violently.

Ginny’s owl flew into the bedchamber and landed on the dresser. It stuck out its leg and hooted shrilly at him. If Harry didn’t know any better, he would swear it gave him the evil eye. After releasing the owl of its burden, it took off back out the window, but not before it pecked Harry’s finger. “Ow,” Harry hissed. He sucked on the wound as he shut and latched the window. “Damn bird,” he cursed.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he stared down at the letter. Scrawled on the front of the envelope in Ginny’s curlicue handwriting was his name. This was the first letter he’d received from Ginny since before Christmas. His stomach knotted in dread.

Before he could even read the letter, the alarm on Harry’s watch went off. It was time to head to his doctor appointment. The nausea intensified. What he learned within the next couple of hours would dictate which of those two roads diverged in a yellow wood he would be taking. He was not sure which was the more inviting and which one scared the bejesus out of him.

 

* * *

 

**Iriye Family Medical Practice - Opulentus Alley, London, England**

Much to his relief, Opulentus Alley was not connected to Diagon Alley--not by portal or by junction. In fact, the entrance to Opulentus was at the opposite end of London all together. Access to Opulentus, as instructed by Madam Pomfrey, was simple. All Harry had to do was find a closed bridal shop off a close that was off another close that was off the main strip within Muggle London‘s Soho district. Simple. You, literally, step through the front door of the shop and are transported to Opulentus. Harry was impressed with Opulentus Alley. It was cleaner as in more hygienic and sanitary, and cleaner as in more well kept than Diagon Alley was. Locating Healer Iriye’s practice was relatively unproblematic as well. It sat next to an old-fashioned soda fountain that looked as if it had been ripped right out of a Muggle department store circa the 1950s.

That had been the easy part. The hard part came when Healer Iriye had asked him a bunch of routine questions at the start of his examination.

_“Are you sexually active?”_

_“How many partners have you had?”_

_“Were they male or female?”_

_“Did you use protection or any kind of contraceptives?”_

Merlin! How embarrassing was it to tell a complete stranger that he’d had unprotected sex with a man old enough to be his father a month and a half ago and that no, he was not on any sort of birth control?

Healer Iriye had hummed and made other such noises. Then she poked and prodded and told him to say, “Ah”. Afterwards, she said she needed to get a urine sample. That was when he knew. She suspected the same thing he did. So with his heart hammering in his chest, he headed down the hall to the bathroom with the small four-ounce cup Healer Iriye had given him. Who knew peeing in a cup could be so nerve-racking?

_“Leave the cup in the little cupboard behind the toilet,”_ she’d said.

Now he was back in the examination room on the cushioned examination table, watching his feet swinging round and round and round as he waited for Healer Iriye. He had to tear his gaze away from his feet before he threw up. If he’d had fingernails before his appointment, they would have been gone by now. The waiting was killing him.

Harry wasn’t sure how long he sat there before the door opened and Healer Keisha Iriye entered.

“Well,” she said as the door closed softly behind her. In her hands was his file. It was open and she was scanning something within it.

Keisha Iriye, fifty years old, but didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Hair blacker than his own was pulled up into a neat chignon. Almond shaped light brown eyes were framed by dark lashes and always had a twinkle to them. Her Asian features were offset by the perfect combination of her tanned-olive complexion. On occasion, there was a lilt of something Other in her voice when she spoke. She was a first generation pureblood. Her half-blood father perished during a boating accident several years back. Her pureblood mother had retired back to Japan the year prior with her new husband to look after her ailing mother. Healer Iriye herself was a primary care healer with a specialized degree in obstetrics and gynecology. At one time, she used to work at Saint Mungo’s, but fifteen years ago, she left to open her own practice. With nearly thirty years under her belt, she was one of the most sought after as well as the most highly regarded Healer in her field.

Setting the file on the desk that had been built into the wall besides the door, Healer Iriye turned towards him with a smile that was supposed to reassure him. “We have your test results,” she announced as she wheeled out a stool from under the desk and sat down. She wheeled the stool over to where he sat on the examination table.

Nodding, Harry gulped. This was it. He felt nauseous with nerves.

“You claimed to have had some suspicions.”

Harry nodded.

“Now, did you take a home test?”

Harry shook his head. There was no way he was going to walk into a Muggle pharmacy and buy one of those. Imagine the looks! The same went for buying one at a wizarding apothecary. It didn‘t matter whether he purchased the test in Diagon, Knockturn, Opulentus or some other wizarding locale. It would be a hundred times worse than wandering into a Muggle store. Not only because of who he was, but because eventually, it would get back to Ginny. Everyone would assume the test was for her--who in his right mind was suspect the truth?--and then the shit would really hit the fan. Of course, he could have just made one himself, but that was not going to happen any time soon. He was still horrendous at potions. He’d be more likely to blow the house up. If he would have asked either Hermione or Draco to make the test for him, they would demand answers and he was fresh out of those.

“Okay, well,” Healer Iriye was saying. Her eyes locked with his. Her hands were clasped lightly before her.

The calm she exuded helped to ease the knot in his stomach, but he still felt on the verge of tossing the breakfast he’d somehow been able to keep down that morning. Harry held his breath.

“The tests results came back positive. You are pregnant.” Healer Iriye scanned Harry’s face. Her own was neutral.

The color drained from his face. Harry sat stunned on the examination table. It looked as if his suspicions had been confirmed. _Shit_ , he thought.

 

* * *

 

**12 Grimmauld Place - London, England**

Harry made his way home in a daze. He could not seem to wrap his mind around the startling bit of news he’d just received. Pregnant. He was pregnant. He was going to have a baby. Dearest Merlin. Not only was he was going to have a baby, but he was going to be the mother. Him! Of all the outrageous things…!

Yes, he’d dreamed of having a family. There weren’t many, whether witch or Muggle, that didn’t think of starting a family at one point or another. In his case, he’d never thought that dream would come true in this particular manner. At the age of eleven when he’d learned that no, he wasn’t a freak but was in fact a wizard, the possibility that if he was strong enough magically, he would be able to get pregnant never crossed his mind. As he’d grown up in a Muggle household and Muggle men could not get pregnant, he’d never thought to consider the idea. Why would he? It wasn’t until this past summer while attending the Ministry’s Midsummer’s Night Ball that he’d learned the scandalous truth.

At first, he thought it was someone’s idea of a sick joke. Even when Hermione confirmed what he’d overheard, Harry still didn’t--couldn’t believe it was possible. Not even reading every book on the subject that he could get his hand on helped him wrap his mind around the very real fact that wizards could become pregnant just like their female counterparts.

Lost in thought, Harry trudged up the front steps of his house. He went through the motions of unlocking the door and dropping the wards without conscious thought. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Automatically, the wards and charms dropped back into place. He turned the deadbolt. The sound of the shifting tumblers sounded unnaturally loud.

“Welcome home, Master,” Kreacher greeted him when the house-elf appeared before him suddenly.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled distracted. He removed his heavy fur lined winter cloak, scarf, gloves and hat and tossed them to the house-elf who bowed and vanished, leaving Harry to his overwhelming thoughts. With a heavy sigh, Harry fell back against the door and stared at the plastic tarpaulined hallway.

_“The tests results came back positive. You are pregnant,”_ Healer Iriye’s voice echoed through his head.

“Fuck,” he cursed with feeling as his eyes began to prickle with the beginning of tears. He banged his head against the door. What was he going to do now? “Dammit!”

 

* * *

 

**That Night - 12 Grimmauld Place - London, England**

Harry sat curled with a large mug of hot chocolate in his newest favorite chair in front of a roaring fire in what had been the smoking room--otherwise referred to as the men’s parlor--at one point. The old women’s parlor was across the hall. There was a plate of untouched saltine crackers along with the unopened letter from Ginny on the table besides him.

Ginny. The thought of his girlfriend brought Harry back to the here and now. Dropping his legs, Harry focused his gaze away from the hypnotic dance of the flames to the letter.

He’d honestly had no plans of telling Ginny about his little rendezvous with Lucius, but everything was different now. Things had changed. Now, he had to tell her. There was no getting around it, not now that he was pregnant. Well, that was not exactly true. He did have other options he could fall back on, but he highly doubted she would believe something as asinine as he being artificially inseminated; it wouldn’t mesh on so many levels--besides, he wasn’t even sure if it was possible. And there was no way he planned to abort the life growing within him. That was the only surety he was confident in voicing. The idea of terminating this unexpected pregnancy made him sick to his stomach. No, he planned to keep this baby.

Setting his cocoa on the table besides his plate of crackers, he picked up the letter. He was almost afraid of what Ginny might have written. It could have been just about anything.

Slitting open the sealed envelope, Harry pulled out a single tri-folded sheet of parchment. Setting the envelope aside, Harry unfolded the letter and started to read.

_Harry~_

_I did something really, really stupid._

Harry frowned.

_I was upset when you didn’t show up in Hogsmeade on Valentine’s Day as we‘d planned back in September. I sat in Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop alone among all the other couples waiting for you. I sat there for three hours sipping tea and getting several confetti showers before I realized that you weren’t coming. I was so upset and embarrassed and ready to Avada Kedarva your sorry ass into the next millennium._

Harry huffed. Oh, yes. Blame it all on him. Everything was his fault. He knew he had a tendency to act and think later, but she was the one who’d started hurling accusations at him after reading Skeeter‘s article about his “illicit affair” with Draco Malfoy. She was the one who told him to “fuck off”. She was the one who told him not to bother showing his face anywhere near her ever again. She was the one who told him to forget about Valentine’s Day. If she’d changed her mind, she should have said something. He wasn‘t a mind reader.

_Instead, I went to the Room of Requirements and blew some stuff up. That’s where Seamus found me hours later just before curfew. There isn’t any way to sugarcoat this, so I’ll just come right out and say it. I kissed him--or he kissed me--I really have no idea which. All I know is that one minute I was telling him what an ungrateful ass you were, the next I was crying and he was holding me and then--well, we were kissing and then-_

Harry tossed the letter aside as if burned. Breathing heavily, his pulse racing, he stared down at it. The light from the fire both highlighted the letter and threw it into shadow. “Well fuck,” he whispered as the sting of tears prickled his eyes.

Well, he certainty didn’t have to worry about Ginny’s reaction to his infidelity now did he? What started out as laughter that was tinged with a hint of madness turned into quiet sobbing as Harry sat curled up on the armchair in front of a crackling fire.

He had no idea why he was even crying. It certainly wasn’t over finding out his girlfriend had slept with another man because that would be hypocritical as he’d done the very same thing. The only difference being she hadn’t ended up pregnant. Maybe he was crying because this was irrefutable proof that things between them really were over. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“‘-and I- / I took the one less traveled by’,” Harry cried softly.

 

* * *

 

**23rd February - 12 Grimmauld Place - London, England**

Seven days had since passed and the fact that he was not only expecting his first child, but that he was the one carrying said child still hadn’t sunk in. For the love of Merlin, he was nearly eight weeks pregnant! Even taking into account all the prenatal nutrient and vitamin potions and whatnot he had to take every day did not make it real. Nor did the fact that he had to see Healer Iriye once a month until he was about twelve weeks along and then it increased to twice until he entered his third trimester where he would see her practically everyday until the baby was born.

Baby. What a surreal mind trip.

Other than Kreacher, Harry hadn’t informed anyone of his new status. As he wasn’t showing, yet, he felt he had plenty of time in which to drop the bombshell. Besides, Ron was away at Auror Academy. Hermione had chosen to return to school in order to take her NEWTs. Ginny…

With a heavy sigh, Harry propped his head in the palm of his hand and stared blankly across the kitchen.

He had yet to write back to Ginny. She was probably anxious about his reaction.

“If only she knew,” he whispered with a laugh that was anything but amused.

Harry sighed and tried focusing on his breakfast that consisted of dry toast. It was one of the only solid foods he could keep down. But his mind kept wandering. This time it wandered to the father of his baby.

He had to tell Lucius about the baby first and foremost. There was no question about that. The baby was just as much Lucius’ as it was Harry’s. He just wasn’t sure how Lucius would take the news. There were so many uncertainties.

With a curse, Harry dropped the piece of toast he’d shredded into crumbs back onto his plate and pushed the plate aside. Standing up, he stepped over the bench and picked his way up to the Black family library that was doing duty as both library as well as his office; it was one of the only rooms in the house that didn’t need anything more than a good spit and polish.

Not only did he have to worry about Lucius’ reactions, but what about Draco? How was he supposed to tell Draco that he was pregnant with his little brother or sister? Harry snorted. Yeah. That’ll go over well. Draco was going to kill him for sleeping with his father.

Harry sat at the desk and pulled out a piece of parchment, grabbed a quill and a bottle of ink. Unstoppering the ink square glass vial, he dipped the tip of his quill into the black ink, tapped the side of the quill gently against the rim to release the excess ink and brought it to the parchment.

_Ginny~_

Halting, Harry stared blankly across the room.

After the confessions were made to the people he wanted to inform, what was he supposed to do then? There was no way in hell he was staying in England let alone Britain during his pregnancy. He was already treated as if he were the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. The last thing he wanted was to become the next Bradgelina. He would be trapped inside his own house as a virtual prisoner. Just leaving the house to get some fresh air would put both him and his baby in danger. Besides, with all the renovations going on, all the dust and whatnot floating around could not be healthy. For the safety of his unborn child as well as himself, he had to leave.

The problem with that being: how was he supposed to take a long leave of absence from the UK without mentioning the reason why? People would demand to know--even if it wasn’t any of their business.

Dipping the tip of the quill into the ink once more, he tapped the black grip against the rim of the glass bottle and then set the steel tip against the parchment. He paused and stared blankly back across the room.

Well, it wasn’t as if he had to tell them the real reason. Not yet anyway. He could just tell them he was going backpacking across Europe. It was a common enough occurrence. And it wasn’t as if it would be a total lie. It was an idea he’d been playing with for some time now in order to get away from the suffocating press of the paparazzi that did not believe in granting him a private life.

But where would he go? According to his accounts manager at Gringotts, he had inherited properties all over the world: a villa in Italy; a château, winery and vineyard in France; some sort of beach house in Greece and a hunting lodge in Spain. He could go anywhere he wanted and just disappear for the next thirty-two weeks. That actually didn’t sound like a bad idea. Just fall off the map.

Before that could happen, though, he had some confessions to make.

Harry heaved a heavy sigh.

Shaking himself, he refocused on the letter he had to write to Ginny that would effectively end their relationship.

 

* * *

 

**The Next Morning - 24th February - Corfield Manor - Shropshire, England**

Because of the extensive damage done to Hogwarts during the Final Battle, many feared Europe’s oldest wizarding school would not be able to welcome students the coming school year. It would be a first since its founding. There was talk of shipping students to other wizarding institutions, such as Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. Others wanted to home school their children. Some even suggested holding classes at the Ministry like the adult wizarding classes that were held during the evenings. Or possibly finding another suitable temporary replacement.

Months passed.

More months passed.

It soon became apparent that the shattered Ministry had tabled any motions having to do with the ancient wizarding school, so McGonagall and the remaining Hogwarts staff banded together and decided that if the Ministry was not going to do something, they would.

And they did.

With the help of witches and wizards all over the world who volunteered their time and skills or opened their coin purses, by the time September 1st rolled around, Hogwarts was ready once again to open its doors to students.

McGonagall, who had been appointed to the Headmaster’s position by her colleagues, issued invitations to all students who’d had their studies interrupted the previous school year. Many accepted. Others did not. One of those who chose not to return was Draco Malfoy.

After discussing his options with his parents, Draco decided to hire tutors in preparation for taking his NEWTs. Despite how sullied the Malfoy name became during the war, his father still had connections. Of course, having the Savior himself vouch for not only Draco, but for both his mother as well as his father, helped to reestablish said connections. Because his father had been able to hire nobody but the best of the best, Draco’s studies were going well. Come June, Draco was satisfied he would be receiving Outstanding on all of his NEWT examinations.

Currently, Draco was taking a much-needed break from his studies in order to escort his father back to Malfoy Manor.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Draco approached the fireplace in the quarters his father had been granted the use of during his stay. The hearth was cold, but the ashes still glowed faintly. But what captured Draco’s attention was the painting hanging above the fireplace. It appeared to be some sort of battle. He was stretching out a hand towards it when movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Swinging about, wand in his hand, Draco came face to face with a cloaked figure standing in the threshold between his father’s quarters and the patio beyond.

“Stop right where you are! Who are you?” Draco demanded. “What are you doing here?” Draco tensed when the figure took a step forward. “Don’t come any closer,” he barked.

The figure’s hands rose slowly and deliberately. He--for lack of a better pronoun--showed Draco that his hands were empty. That Draco had nothing to fear from him. The hands rose to the hood of the black cloak and pulled the hood down to reveal a mop of black hair. The head lifted.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his wand. “By Merlin,” he breathed a sigh. “You nearly gave me a heart attack Potter.”

“Sorry,” Harry apologized with a sheepish smile. “I hadn’t realized you were here. I actually came to speak to your father about--about something.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell,” he prodded. He sat as demurely as he could in the armchair behind him and crossed his legs. “What sort of business do you have with my father?” he asked after a lengthy silence in which Harry fidgeted as if he were antsy--or nervous. Draco tilted his head. His forehead creased in thought. For what possible reason could Harry have to feel nervous?

“It’s--a private matter,” Harry stuttered, scratching the back of his head.

Before Draco could say anything in response, the door on the far side of the chamber opened and his father emerged with a forest green satin drawstring bag that Draco knew held his father’s extensive collection of toiletries.

“Ah! Mr. Potter,” Lucius greeted the newcomer as he stepped into the chamber from the en suite bathroom. “I thought that was you I heard.”

At the sound of the Malfoy Lord’s voice, Harry spun around. The cloak he wore flared about him. At the sight of Lucius, his tanned complexion grew a rosy hue and he dropped his gaze. “Lu--Mr. Malfoy,” he greeted in return with a dip of his head.

Draco’s frown deepened. “Father,” he said, keeping his blue-gray eyes on his friend though he was speaking to his father, “Harry here claims to have some sort of-- _business_ he would like to discuss with you.”

Lucius cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? Oh, yes. That is right.”

Draco watched his father as the shock at the sight of Harry turned to confusion before turning into amusement. There was something else there as well glittering in those blue-gray eyes that Draco had inherited. If it were anybody else, Draco would say it was mischievousness.

“We ran into one another at Lord Corfield’s ball last month,” Lucius explained, “and ended up getting into a lengthy discussion about investments and the like.”

Harry nodded his head eagerly.

“I offered my--expertise to Mr. Potter should it ever be required.”

For some reason, Harry blushed at that. The sight had Draco frowning harder. He turned his gaze from his father to Harry and back. Just what was going on here? It was obvious that he was missing something.

“If you have a few moments, Lu--Mr. Malfoy, I would like to speak to you about some of those very--things,” Harry was saying.

Lucius inclined his head.

Draco looked sharply at his friend. That was the second time Harry caught himself from speaking “Lucius” instead of “Mr. Malfoy”. For the entire seven years that he has known Harry, Draco had never once heard Harry refer to his father by his given name. What changed?

“Of course, Harry.”

Draco’s head snapped around. This time, he was gapping at his father. Since when had his father taken to call Harry by his given name? Lucius only bestowed that honor to a very select few.

Lucius strode towards his trunk that was sitting open perpendicular to the open and empty chiffrobe and placed his toiletry bag within.

“Are you moving?” Harry inquired.

Draco’s chest swelled with pride. “My parents have decided to give their marriage a second try,” he admitted smugly.

“Oh…Is that so? That’s…that’s--good.”

“Isn’t it?”

The grin Harry forced onto his face wavered around the edges and did not quite reach his eyes. “I’m--happy to hear that. I hope everything works out for you and Mrs. Malfoy, sir,” Harry said to Lucius with a nod of his head.

Lucius returned Harry nod with one of his own.

Lost amidst his exultation over what he considered a monumental victory, Draco took Harry’s congratulations at face value and thus missed the crestfallen expression on Harry‘s face, the pain and confusion in his eyes and the sudden hesitation. “I’m sure it will,” Draco was saying in his usual spoiled Pureblood haughty tone, oblivious to his friend’s abrupt disconsolation. “You know, I was the one who-”

“Enough Draco. Harry is no longer here to bear witness to your gloating and I for one am bored to death of hearing it.”

Draco was left blinking at the empty spot where Harry had been standing not more than a moment before. “Where did he go?” He glanced around the bedchamber and did not see his friend.

“Left.”

“He left? But-but why?” Draco practically whined.

“Who knows Draco,” Lucius said, turning away from his son and heading back towards the bathroom. “Maybe he was tired of hearing you bragging as if you were some ill-mannered Weasley. Or it could be your whining as if you were still a child.”

Draco flushed in embarrassment.

“Now why don’t you do something useful and go see if you can find Lord Corfield and tell him I am just about ready to leave.”

“But that’s servants’ stuff,” Draco protested.

“Yes,” Lucius agreed from the confines of the bathroom, “and at the moment that means you.”

Scoffing at the iniquitous order, Draco marched out of his father’s quarters in search of the elusive Lord Byron Corfield.

Once his son left, Lucius reappeared in the doorway of the gleaming white marble and chrome bathroom with a frown on his face. He gazed out the closed French doors and out over the patio that was coated with a light dusting of snow. There were a single set of overlapping footprints in the snow approaching and departing from the room.

Whatever it was Harry had wanted to speak to him about obviously had nothing to do with investments, which Lucius actually could help Harry with if the younger man so choose. Lucius had a feeling whatever brought Harry back to Corfield Manor in search of him was more serious and more personal. Had Harry been scared off by Draco’s presence or by the news that Lucius was getting back together with his estranged wife? About what had Harry wanted to speak to him?

 

* * *

 

**Half an Hour Later - 12 Grimmauld Place - London, England**

It seemed to take considerably more time to return home than it had to travel to Corfield Manor. When he did arrive back home, Kreacher was waiting to take his cloak, hat, gloves and scarf like usual and to announce that lunch would be ready shortly. Even though Harry had no appetite, he knew he had to eat. There was more than just him to think about now.

Exhausted and confused, Harry trudged upstairs passed the sealed off construction site to the old men’s parlor that was fast becoming his favorite room in the house. Flopping down into the armchair in front of a roaring fire, he leaned his head back against the back of the plush velvet seat with a curse and stared blankly up at the ceiling as his mind worked overtime.

This was not something for which he had created contingency plans. It hadn’t once crossed his mind that Lucius would get back together with Narcissa. Most couples that separated usually went on to either get divorced or get their marriage annulled. As Purebloods, Harry supposed he should have known better. He was not sure if Purebloods did divorces. Such an atrocity would probably lead to a shunning. That was nothing short of a death sentence for a Pureblood. No wonder Draco had been so overjoyed. But while he was happy for the Malfoys, it left him in a bit of a bind.

What was he supposed to do now that Lucius was getting back together with Narcissa? The addition of Narcissa into the picture complicated matters. Was Harry supposed to just ignore Narcissa’s presence and tell Lucius about the baby anyway?

Harry was no fool. There was no guarantee Lucius would accept let alone acknowledge having any part in creating the life currently growing and developing within Harry. Either way, as the father, Lucius had the right to know about the baby. What Lucius did with that knowledge afterwards was his choice.

Even if Lucius were to take responsibility of being a father to Harry’s baby, chances were good that Lucius would not acknowledge it publicly. Their child would not--could not actually--be named as a Malfoy heir, not even if something were to happen to Draco. Nor would the child be allowed to take the Malfoy name. This was because as he and Lucius were not married, any children they had would be considered illegitimate. Rules of Pureblood society. Stupid. Asinine. Factual. But Harry was okay with that. Thanks to his parents as well as his godfather, his child and any future children he had would be set financially for the rest of their lives. What he wanted was not Lucius’ money, but a father for his child.

As uncertain as Lucius’ reaction to the news was, there was more of a chance of Lucius accepting and acknowledging their child than there was of Narcissa doing so. And who could blame her? There weren’t many who would be willing to open their homes, arms or hearts to their spouse’s love child. Yes, technically, Lucius and Narcissa had been separated, but would that make any difference? Would Narcissa consider her husband’s one night stand with Harry an act of infidelity? Harry really did not want to be the cause of Lucius and Narcissa’s marriage falling apart.

Harry dropped his head into his hands.

He was so confused! What should he do?

“Lunch is ready Master,” came the sudden announcement.

Sighing, Harry sat up. “Thanks, Kreacher.”

Bowing, Kreacher vanished with a pop.

As Harry made his way down to the kitchen via the servant’s stairway, he pondered the conundrum of how to tell Lucius of the baby without it causing any sort of friction between Lucius and Narcissa whose relationship was already on tenterhooks.

His head was beginning to hurt.

What he really needed was to get away for a while and think, or better yet, not think. Isn’t that what writers suffering from writer’s block are said to do? To step away from that which was giving them so much grief and do something else? That sounded like a very good idea at the moment. Just forget everything that has happened these past couple of months. Maybe then, he could tackle what to do with a clear mind. Hopefully then he’d have some idea of just what he was going to do because at the moment he was fresh out of answers.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Gryffindor Common Room**

In the Gryffindor common room, Ginevra Weasley was sitting at the small table beneath the room’s sole window. Like many of her fellow seventh years, and the small group of so-called “eighth years”, she was using her free period to revise for yet another mock NEWT examination in Transfiguration the next day. The day following there was one in Potions. The day after that there was one in Herbology.

“It’s a conspiracy I tell ya,” Ginny overheard a fellow Gryffindor seventh year grumble.

Hermione’s opinion on the matter was well known and criticized by all the seventh and eighth years in all four houses; she thought everyone was over-exaggerating. Ginny couldn’t agree less with her future sister-in-law. It was either one giant conspiracy or one hell of a coincidence that all the professors scheduled mock NEWT examinations at practically the same time and in the same order as they would be given at the end of the school year.

The surface of the table Ginny was sitting at was hidden beneath a carpet of parchment, quills, ink and books.

It hadn’t been the strap but the bottom of her book bag that tore earlier under the enormous weight and that was even after Hermione helped her with an expansion charm.

Groaning, she laid her quill down on the sheet of parchment she’d been taking notes on and sat back, rubbing her aching eyes.

This was insane.

Studying was useless. She wasn’t retaining any of the information. In one ear and out the other. At this point, she was just wasting parchment and ink. Even as a distraction tool, studying was turning out to be a total failure. It was difficult to memorize how to change fire to ice, which was apparently not the same thing as freezing the fire, and ice into flame, which did not refer to using fire to melt the ice, when her mind was already distracted.

A tapping sound distracted her from her thoughts. Looking about for the source of said noise, Ginny noted the tawny owl at the common room window. She frowned. A quick tempus showed her that her free period was nearly finished. It was just about time for lunch. Usually post arrives at breakfast. It was unusual to receive mail any other time. It wasn’t unheard over, but it was unusual.

Pushing away from the table, she stood up, grabbed her wand and rounded the table to the window. With a flick of her wand and a mumbled spell, the window vanished and in flew the owl.

As a sea of protests rose, Ginny shivered violently as a shower of snow rained down upon her and a wicked wind whipped about the common room, scattering papers about and fanning tempers already on the verge of snapping. The roaring fire flickered and came close to going out.

The owl circled about the common room. As it circled back, it dropped an envelope on top of the mountain of books and whatnot on the table she’d commandeered before vanishing out into the below freezing winter afternoon. Ginny canceled the spell that’d vanished the window to an enthusiastic round of applause.

Shivering from the lingering chill, Ginny picked up the envelope. Her name was scrawled on the front in familiar handwriting. It was from Harry.

Gathering her things, she slung her book bag over her shoulder and proceeded up to her dormitory for some privacy. Making sure the door was shut securely behind her; Ginny crossed the circular chamber towards her bed. Dumping everything but the letter on the floor, Ginny took a seat on her bed, bouncing lightly on the mattress. Her hands were trembling she realized as she stared down at the crème colored envelope.

She found herself hesitant to open let alone read the letter. There was no telling what Harry had written. It could be good news. It could be bad news. It could be a mixture of the two. The fact that it hadn’t been sent via Howler as part of her had been expecting, given his legendary temper, had to mean Harry had chosen to forgive her indiscretion, right? The optimism that thought brought died as quickly as it was born. Just because it didn’t come in the form of a Howler, didn’t mean Harry wasn’t going to chew her out. Harry did whatever he could to preserve some semblance of privacy nowadays given his heightened celebrity status. And sending a Howler would undo that. The last thing either of them wanted was for their relationship woes to be plastered on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Again. That was not to say that had their positions been reversed, she wouldn’t have sent a Howler because she would have. Screw the _Daily Prophet._ If a boyfriend of hers couldn’t remember which port to dock his ship in then she damn well was going to make sure the whole world knew. Embarrass her will he? Well then, fuck him and the hippogriff he rode in on.

_Well_ , she thought taking a deep breath. There was only one way to find out whether she was still engaged to be engaged or newly single. Sliding a finger under the flap of the envelope, she tore open the top of the envelope and pulled out a single folded sheet of parchment. She couldn’t seem to stop her hands from trembling or her pulse from racing.

After the first read through, despite the sting of tears in her eyes and the ache in her heart, Ginny hadn’t a clue what she’d just read. It was all gibberish, much like when she’d been trying to study earlier but had been too distracted to retain anything. This was much the same.

After the second read through, Ginny understood that Harry wasn’t angry with her for cheating on him.

During the third read through, Ginny read something about something being hypocritical. She didn’t understand what Harry was trying to say. Why was Harry calling himself a hypocrite? And what was this about a pot and a kettle? She was starting to think that being alone in that house with only a house-elf for company was causing her boyfriend to go mad. She forced herself to read the letter once more.

That was when Ginny finally got it. What had once been gibberish was starting to form letters. Those letters were forming words and those words were turning into sentences that she could read, but she wished it hadn’t. She didn’t want to understand what Harry was saying. She didn’t want to read his confession. She didn’t want to know that Harry, her Harry, had cheated on her and with Lucius “I’m-the-Dark-Lord’s-Right-Hand-Man” Malfoy.

No. No! It had to be wrong. She had to have read it wrong. Maybe the letter wasn’t even from Harry. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t because…because….

Ginny dropped her face into her hands as sobs racked her tall, thin frame. The letter slipped from between her fingers and fluttered to the floor, half hidden beneath her small bedside dresser. Her heartbroken cries filled the deserted seventh year girls’ dormitory as she curled up on her side in the middle of her bed.

The bedside light illuminated a single paragraph of the letter.

_-much I love you. Nothing will ever change that. I would love nothing more than to grow old with you besides me as we watch our children and our children’s children and our children’s children’s children’s grow up and have children of their own. I want to wake up each morning with you besides me and fall asleep the same way. I want that more than anything. And that’s why I think the both of us need to take a deep breath and step back. We’re moving too fast. Doing too much too soon. If the future we envision for the both of us is meant to be, then it’ll happen. We have all the time in the world. Until then, I hope we can at least be friends. I’d rather consider you my friend than nothing at all._

_In the meantime, I plan to do some traveling around Europe. Maybe go to Asia, Africa, Australia. Hell, I might just make a stop on all seven continents. If you ask nicely, I might even bring you back a souvenir! I’m not sure where I’m going to go or how long I plan to be gone, but I’ll keep in touch. Promise._

_Give my love to Hermione and Ron._

_Love,_

_Harry_

 

* * *

 

This was where Hermione found Ginny five minutes later. Cautiously, she opened the door and stuck her head of brown curls into the chamber. She found Ginny lying in bed with her back to the door. “Gin?” she called softly so as not to frighten her future sister-in-law. “Lunchtime. Coming? Or are you not feeling up to it? Should I have something-?”

Shaking her head, Ginny sat up and swung around, dropping her legs to the floor. “No. I’m coming.”

Hermione took in the other girl’s state and realized instantly that she’d been crying. “Oh, Ginny.” Pushing the door open wider, she stepped into the chamber and closed the door behind her. Crossing the otherwise empty chamber, Hermione sat down on the bed besides Ginny. “What happened?”

Sobbing, Ginny shook her head. “Harry. He-he-”

“What about Harry?”

“He broke up with me,” Ginny explained with a sob that she was barely to suppress. As it was, tears filled her eyes. She went on to explain about the letter Harry sent her. Of course, she left out several key facts like Harry sleeping with Lucius Malfoy. That was not something anybody else needed to know at the moment.

“Oh, Ginny. I’m so sorry.” Hermione pulled Ginny into a hug.

Ginny returned the gesture before gently pulling away. “It’s okay,” she admitted with a watery smile. “Really.”

Hermione frowned as if she didn’t believe her.

Standing up, Ginny turned to face her brother’s girlfriend. “Come on. I’m starving.” Strangely enough, she was. After the one-two punch courtesy of her now ex-boyfriend Harry Potter, she would have thought she wouldn’t have an appetite. But as it was, it felt as if she could eat an entire hippogriff.

As she turned to exit the dormitory, Hermione called after her. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Ginny paused with a hand on the door handle. She smiled at Hermione over her shoulder and nodded. “Yes. I am.” Despite what Hermione seemed to believe, it wasn’t a lie. “But I have a feeling Harry won’t be after you and Ron get your hands on him.”

“I think Harry made a reasonable argument,” Hermione said. “Granted-”

“No,” Ginny interrupted as she climbed out of the portrait hole. “Well, yes, but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

“Oh? Then what-?”

“Harry’s leaving,” Ginny blurted causing her to wince. She hadn’t meant it to come out like that, but the damage was done.

“What?!”

Ginny halted her descent and turned to look up at Hermione who had stopped cold at the confession several steps behind her. She sighed. “Come on. Let’s go down to the kitchens. I’ll tell you what Harry said.”

Annoyed, Hermione marched behind Ginny passed the Great Hall and down into the dungeons where the kitchens were. _Harry had better have a good explanation for this_ , she fumed.

 

**…To Be Continued…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Before you ask, Ginny will not become some psychotic psychopath hell-bent on revenge. She’ll mourn what was and what could have been and then move on as that‘s what sane people do and in this fic that‘s what she is.


	3. Wandering Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For those who are unfamiliar with it, “Glaring Dream” isn’t a poem but a Jpop song from the shonen-ai (Boys Love) anime “Gravitation”.

_Amidst a noisy crowd of people_   
_The murmured words melt away_   
_Scattered at my feet_   
_Are memories that become blurred by it_   
_I wander aimlessly_

- **“Glaring Dream"** (Eng Translation)

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 3: Wandering Consequences**

**A Month Later - 27th March - The Mermaid’s Tail Inn - Northern Portugal**

Harry wasn’t sure what time it was; only that it was still dark outside. There wasn’t even the slightest hint that dawn was approaching. With a groan, he tossed aside the thin sheet and stumbled out of bed, tripping over the mound of blankets piled at the foot of the bed as he staggered through the blurry darkness in the general direction of the bathroom.

He fell to his knees before the white porcelain toilet and proceeded to upheave everything that he’d managed to keep down the day before. Long after his stomach had been purged of its contents, his aching stomach continued to constrict almost painfully. Feeling like a dishrag that had been rung out and hung on the line to dry, Harry fell back against the wall with another groan. A hand fluttered to his stomach while the other took care of the evidence of his upset stomach and the disgusting taste that lingered in his mouth. It even managed to flush the toilet. He hadn’t even been aware he could do that.

Wanting to just curl up and die in some dark corner somewhere, Harry picked himself up off the floor and made his way to bed where he buried himself under the numerous layers of blankets to ward off the sudden chill that seemed to have hooked its claws deeply within him.

Hopefully Healer Iriye had some sort of anti-nausea potion he could take. He would have to remember to ask her next week.

There came a point when throwing up got old.

 

* * *

 

**A Week Later - 4th April - The Wayward Traveler’s Inn - Southern Spain**

The view from the windows on the eastern side of the centuries old building was exquisite. Interrupted only by the gently rolling hills that could be seen dancing in the distance. Laid out like a patchwork quilt stretching for as far as the eye could see were fields and meadows and tilled land ready for farming. A herd of what appeared to be sheep could also been seen grazing. It took one’s breath away.

“Well.”

Harry forced his gaze away from the windows and refocused his attention to the other person in the room.

“The two of you appear to be in good health,” Healer Iriye announced to the young wizard with a grin.

From his position on the bed, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and with it went the growing tension that always accompanied these appointments. “Thank Merlin,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“He’s not even born yet and you’re already acting like a parent,” Healer Iriye noticed in amusement.

Harry blushed as he pulled himself into a sitting position and swung his legs off the bed.

Was he really? A swell of pride rose within him. He hadn’t realized. With a wide toothy grin that he couldn’t seem to wipe from his face, he lifted a hand to touch his not so flat belly. All he knew was that just the thought of something happening to the child growing within him sent him into a fluttery of panic. Was that what it meant to be a parent? To be so worried about your child that it felt as if you would go insane? That just the thought of something happening to him broke your heart into a million pieces that not even the king’s men could put together again?

“You can go ahead and get dressed now.”

As Harry gathered his clothes and redressed, he addressed his healer as she finished updating his file. “Do you think we’ll be able to see the sex next time?”

Healer Iriye laughed. “Do you want a boy or a girl?” she asked.

Honestly? Harry really didn’t care. As long as his child was healthy, it didn’t matter if his child turned out to be a squib. As cliché as that statement was, for every witch and wizard in the known wizarding world for centuries has been using it, it was still true.

Healer Iriye nodded as Harry relayed his thoughts on the matter. “Well, given that your baby has a tendency to moon us every time we see him, my bet would be for a boy.”

Harry laughed at that.

Finished with adding her notes from this session, Healer Iriye turned back towards her patient who had finished dressing by this point. “Now, you said you’ve been feeling nauseous?”

Harry nodded, “Yes. Sometimes it’s bad. Sometimes it’s not.” He shrugged. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason--no specific foods that set it off. There were days where he couldn’t keep anything down and then there were days where he’d run to the bathroom maybe once the entire day.

Forehead creased in thought, Healer Iriye hummed in response. “The nausea should be abating.”

Harry regarded her with a cocked eyebrow. Could have fooled him.

“Of course, there are some who experience the nausea throughout the entirety of the pregnancy.”

Harry groaned at this. Dear Merlin. He flopped backwards, bouncing lightly against the mattress. “Isn’t there something I can take?” He winced at the whine he heard in his voice. But really, who liked vomiting? He turned his head to look at the older woman.

“There is an anti-nausea potion we could try,” she suggested. “It’s not a normal anti-nausea potion either,” she continued, turning around and pulling her prescription pad towards her. She grabbed her self-inking quill. “It’s a special one intended for pregnant witches and wizards, so it’ll be safe for you to ingest and won‘t harm the baby.” The sound of scratching filled the room as Healer Iriye wrote out the prescription for the potions.

Harry breathed another sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“What about your vitamins and nutrient potions you’re supposed to be taking? Need any refills?”

“Nope,” Harry answered easily. “I have enough to last me for a while yet.”

Healer Iriye nodded. “Good.” She ripped the top sheet from the pad and turned around to hand it to Harry. “Just take this to any apothecary or chemist to get it filled. It comes in a set of seven one fluid ounce vials. Take one vial a day. It should take care of the nausea. If it doesn’t help or if the nausea gets worse, call me.”

Harry nodded. You could bet he’d floo her at the first sign that the potion wasn’t working.

“So.”

Harry lifted his head and blinked when he saw that his Healer was watching him with a penetrating stare in her eyes. The look made him slightly uncomfortable. She was perched on the edge of the desk with her arms crossed under her breasts. “Did you tell him yet?”

“‘Him’?” Harry echoed in genuine confusion.

“The father. Told him yet?”

Gulping, Harry squirmed nervously. He dropped his head and studied the small square sheet of parchment in his hands. It crinkled noisily as his fingers danced and jerked about. His long black fringe swung over his eyes, shielding his emerald green eyes from being viewed and from viewing. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. At the heavy sigh, Harry’s head shot up and around. “You know why I can’t,” he nearly yelled at her with just a hint of a whine. He was annoyed at her continued insinuations that it was an easy task. It didn’t help that he was equally annoyed at himself from being unable to fulfill the task. “He’s-”

“Married?” Healer Iriye offered.

“Yes!”

Dropping her arms, Healer Iriye sat down on the bed besides him. “He’s the father, Harry.”

“I know that.”

“Then you know that you have to tell him.”

“I know! But it’s not-”

“It is,” Healer Iriye disagreed. “It doesn’t matter how you feel about the man or what transpired between the two of you. You could hate his guts and not want anything more to do with him for as long as you both shall live. The fact of the matter is, he is the father of your child and he deserves to know about the baby. Period. Whether you like it or not, that child links you to him for life. So I suggest you grow up and act like the adult you pretend to be.”

Harry gulped at the harsh words. As his Healer and confidant, he’d told her about his affair with the father of his unborn child. He’d also told her that the man had technically been married, but had been in the middle of a trial separation. He’d also told her that the man had since gone back to his wife. Last he heard from Draco, his parents were happy. What he hadn’t told her was the identity of the married man or any details of their relationship.

“We didn’t have any sort of--relationship,” he told her. “We slept together that once and that was it. We didn’t part on bad terms either,” he added. He and Lucius had parted amicably. Harry did not hate Lucius. Just the opposite. Harry couldn’t say that he had fallen in love with the man, but Lucius Malfoy was a remarkable man. Handsome. Intelligent--to a point. Narcissa was a lucky woman. “What we had was--it was a one time thing. That’s it.” No strings. No promises. No commitment. Just a single night of passion to ease the loneliness. It wasn’t until Harry discovered he was pregnant did things start to become complicated. Learning Lucius and Narcissa had decided to give their marriage a second go complicated matters that much more.

Harry could just picture Lucius coming clean to Narcissa. _“Hey love? Remember that short period of time we were separated? Well, I took a lover during that time and it turns out he’s pregnant.”_ Yeah, that’ll go over real well. If it were him, he’d kill Lucius, bring him back to life and then kill him again.

“Be that as it may, Harry,” Healer Iriye was saying, “he, as the father, has the right to know about the baby. It is not your decision to make to keep him out of your child’s life.”

“I get that.” He really did. Harry wasn’t trying to keep the knowledge of the baby from Lucius out of spite. He just didn’t know how to go about telling the man without it ruining his marriage.

“Just tell him,” Healer Iriye said.

Harry blinked at her as the woman stood up and started to gather her things together. Just tell him? That was her advice? If it was as simple as that, he would have done it already, but it wasn’t as easy as saying, “Oh and by the way, I’m pregnant and you’re the father. Congrats!” Groaning, Harry buried his face in his hands. Sometimes, life was just not fair.

 

* * *

 

**That Afternoon**

This was the most difficult letter he ever had to write. That included the one he wrote last summer to Professor McGonagall to let her know that no he would not be returning to Hogwarts as a so-called “eighth year”.

Ron hadn’t been too fazed by his decision as he himself had opted to enter Auror Academy, though he’d been a little disappointed when Harry said that he wouldn’t be joining him either. Hermione, on the other hand, had been upset over his decision. She’d been somewhat mollified when he told her that he planned on hiring private tutors. Savior of the Wizarding World or not, he still needed his NEWTs in order to get any sort of job that didn’t include, “Need a bag?” or “Want fries with that?”.

Well, that was not exactly accurate; not for him at least. Given who he was, he pretty much had carte blanch to do what he pleased, which was how Ron had been able to get into Auror training at the Academy without taking his NEWTs.

At this point, taking his NEWTs was nothing more than a formality. Whichever career path he chose to seek out, whether it was with the Aurors or not, his employers weren’t going to care about his NEWT scores, skills or qualifications. As soon as they saw the name “Harry Potter” on the application and realized it was actually him when they came face to face with the infamous scar, which was more famous than he was, he‘d be hired on the spot. That disgusted him. Hermione was proud of his decision to not take advantage of his fame. It just confused Ron.

Disgusted, angry and tired of the seemingly endless excuses, Harry forced his mind to concentrate on the letter he had to write to Lucius.

Was a letter cowardly? It was like breaking up with your boyfriend via interdepartmental memo. Some things should be taken care of in person, especially when the news you had to impart was life altering such as telling someone he was going to be a father--again. But since going vis-à-vis with Lucius hadn‘t exactly worked out the first time around, Harry was wary of trying it again. Hence the letter. But maybe instead of a letter, he should try to speak to Lucius again--maybe in a neutral location somewhere away from prying eyes and without freaking out at some unexpected news. Here at the Wayward Traveler’s Inn would be an ideal location. That sounded promising. But then the question of Narcissa reared its ugly head. Or was that just another excuse? That Harry couldn’t say for certain either way said a lot.

He blamed his brilliant procrastination skills and his continued inability to gather enough courage to “come right out and say it”, as Healer Iriye had put it, on his Slytherin side.

“Fuck,” he cursed soundly tossing his quill pen down in frustration. It rolled across the desk and onto the parchment lying open upon the desk, leaving an inky trail in its wake.

Leaning back in the hard wood chair, he fingered his hair in a half-crazed manner before combing it back into submission. Slouching down in the chair, his legs stretched out before him and his arms hanging limply at his sides, Harry tipped his head back until it was resting upon the top of the back of the chair and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

It was times like these he missed Hermione and her brain. She would know exactly what to do. Actually, he had a vague idea what she would say if he were to ask her for advice. “Just come right out and say it.”

He sat up only to slump forward over the desk that looked out over the moderately sized room he’d rented in a village in the middle of nowhere in the South of Spain.

The inn itself was a quaint establishment that had been in the Marrera family for centuries. Here guests were treated as part of that family. At the moment, he was one of the only guests. That suited him just fine. The less witches and wizards he dealt with the better. This was not a slight towards his generous hosts. Everybody, not only here at the inn but within the town and the surrounding communities, has been nothing but kind and welcoming. They were the friendliest bunch of people and seemed to understand his need for anonymity. This was the most he has felt at home anywhere and that included his six years at Hogwarts. The ability to blend in with the locals had been relatively simple.

It was too bad that writing this letter was not as easy.

Sitting up, he planted his elbows on the desk and scrubbed his hands over his face.

Maybe he should just ask Hermione for some advice. See what she had to say on the issue. If it were similar to what Healer Iriye told him, then he’d: first, hex the first person he saw into oblivion; second, he’d send Lucius a letter asking for a meeting.

His mind made up, Harry grabbed his quill and a fresh sheet of parchment. Dipping the tip of the quill into the vial of ink, he tapped the black grip against the lip of the jar to remove excess ink and put the stainless steel tip to the homemade parchment he’d purchased here in town.

_Dear Hermione,_ he wrote.

He paused to mull over exactly how he was going to go about this. It wasn’t as if he could very well just come right out and tell her his problem. Well, he supposed he could, but the lecture he would be forced to incur was not worth it. He really was not in the mood to be reprimanded as if he were five. And he sure as hell was not about to let her brainwash him into feeling guilty for or regretting having slept with Lucius either. That was something Hermione Granger was pretty good at: twisting people’s emotions to suit her need. That wasn’t a slight on Hermione either. It was a tremendous gift. But at the moment, he could do without the gift. All he wanted was advice and there was only one way he could go about getting it without incurring the wrath that was Hermione Granger. He just hoped it wasn’t such a predictable route that she’d see through it.

_How’ve you been? Things here are going well. I’m in a quaint little town in Spain and when I say little, I mean it. You take a step out your front door and find yourself passed town limits! The population of the entire town, including those who live in the outskirts, could fill the Hog’s Head easily and there’d still be room to spare. I swear I’m not exaggerating…Much. I arrived a week ago and the people have been nothing but kind. They treat me like one of their own. You have no idea how liberating that is._

_I actually inherited a “small” hunting lodge not far from here and when I say small, I mean small as in Malfoy Manor small. No kidding. The lodge is freaking huge! But it’s falling apart. It makes the house in Godric’s Hollow look like a five-star resort. I called in an Inspector to check it out and according to him, it’s a complete loss. Said it’d be better to knock it down and rebuild from scratch. I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet. I’m thinking about leasing the land to the community so they can build a primary wizarding school. I certainly don’t need it._

_Anyway, congrats on your engagement. Did you pick a date yet? I don’t know if I ever told you, but my parents were Bonded in September of ‘79 and had a small church service a month after I was born when I was baptized. Did you know I was baptized? As in a muggle Christian church? Apparently, this was to appease my mother’s family. Anyway, whatever date you choose, be assured I will be there. How can I possibly miss my best mates’ wedding?_

_On another note, I should apologize. It’s been a while since I wrote last, but between NEWTs and traveling (and I had a terrible cold I’m just getting over) I just hadn’t had much time. By the way, you’ll be happy to know I passed all my NEWTs with flying colors (even Potions)._

_Another thing. I was hoping you could help me with a bit of a problem. I met this girl in the restaurant of the inn where I’m staying the other day. I think she’s the owners’ niece or something. Anyway, we got to talking one day and she starts crying! I start freaking out and ask what’s wrong and she tells me that she’s pregnant and that the father just got married. Half of what she said I couldn’t understand because she was crying. I have no idea what to tell her, but I feel so bad for her. Any advice I can pass along?_

Harry sat back and reread what he wrote. “Mental,” was the decision. “Absolutely mental. Totally.” He was sure that Hermione would see through the whole “I have a friend who has a problem” shtick, but it was a risk he was going to have to take.

He rounded the letter off with asking about Ginny--who’d asked his permission in her last letter to go to Hogsmeade with Seamus; why she felt the need to ask him if it was okay was beyond him seeing she were free to do as she pleased--and Ron, who’d yet to write back to him.

Harry finished the letter by adding his signature at the end.

Hoping he wasn’t making a mistake by asking Hermione for advice, Harry folded the single sheet of parchment lengthwise, then thrice widthwise. Sliding it into its matching envelope, he sealed the flap with wax and then scrawled Hermione’s name on the front. He set it aside to mail later.

Grabbing another sheet of parchment, Harry started a letter for Ron. Hopefully he wasn’t too busy to write back this time.

 

* * *

 

**The Next Day - 5th April - Auror Academy Boys Dormitory - Location Unknown**

“Weasley! Got a letter,” called out a voice as soon as Ron stepped into what was serving as the boys’ dormitory.

“Thanks,” he called back.

The boys’ dormitory at the Auror Academy was nothing like the boys’ dormitory back at Hogwarts. It was unlike any dormitory anywhere that he had ever seen. It actually had more in common with a hostel than a dorm room--not that he’d ever been to a hostel before, but his brother Charlie had and this was exactly what he described: crowded, noisy, lack of privacy. There seemed to be no order or rhyme or reason of any kind for the arrangement of the furniture. Three heaters were placed equidistant amidst a bunch of bunk beds that had been thrown willy-nilly into a room. He wondered if the girls’ was the same.

He supposed it didn’t matter though since they were hardly ever in the dorm anyway. Classes kept them fairly busy. As it was, his wand arm felt like lead, his voice was all but shot, his feet hurt like a son of a bitch and his side still ached from that stinging hex that MacIver managed to hit him with earlier. All he wanted was to go take a long hot shower and than crawl into bed and die.

Squeezing his way through the sardine packed rookie boys’ dormitory, Ron finally made it to his bunk. Grimacing, he picked up the damp--and putrid smelling--towel that had been thrown haphazardly onto his pillow and tossed it to the floor with shudder. Disgusting.

A crème colored envelope with his name printed on the front in familiar scrawl was lying on his pillow. Despite being one leg short of death, Ron smiled.

He’d been meaning to write back his best mate, but training was brutal. They didn’t have time to take a shit let alone contact anybody back home.

Collapsing onto his bed with a grateful sigh, he reached out for the envelope and tore it open.

_Dear Ron~_

_About time! Thought it’d never happen. Considering how long it took the two of you to stop dancing around and confess how you felt about each other, it amazes me it didn’t take you twice as long to get engaged. You know George, Seamus, Dean and some of the others were betting on whether or nor the two of you would even get engaged and who‘d ask who. George bet you’d chicken out and in the end ‘Mione would be the one to ask you. Guess he was right. Ha. Ha._

Ron scoffed and rolled his eyes. Of course there’d been a bet. Those three had a serious gambling problem, especially his brother. And no, he hadn’t “chickened out” thank you very much. He’d just been waiting for the perfect time. That was all. He’d actually been planning to propose come this June when Hermione graduated. It wasn’t his fault Hermione had beat him to the punch and decided Christmas was a better time to propose.

_Did you pick a date yet? I’m assuming you’d want to wait until after Hermione graduates. But would you want to get married right away, do you think, or wait until after you graduate from the Academy?_

In all honesty, that was something Ron hadn’t thought about. They definitely wouldn’t get married until sometime after June when Hermione graduated. Other than that, he hadn’t the foggiest clue. If they were going to get married right away, it would have to be over the summer, so they’d have time for a proper honeymoon. Because come September, it was right back to the Academy and training. Maybe it’d be better to wait until after training was over.

_How is training by the way? I gotta admit, part of me wishes I were there with you._

Ron snorted. And part of him was regretting being here.

_By the way, before I forget, I passed through this town the other week that had this museum honoring some guy named Brion Bardon-_

With a gasp, Ron flew upright. “No way. No freaking way! There’s a museum, a whole museum, dedicated to the Brion Bardon? So cool.”

_Honestly, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of him-_

With a gasp and gaping in scandalized horror, Ron stuttered out, “Never-never heard of Brion-? Who in their right mind never heard of Brion Bardon?”

_-but the guide at the museum said this Brion Bardon guy started a local quidditch team named the Annwn (1) Hounds for the minor leagues and when he passed away, his great great great (or whatever) grandson sold the team to some unknown nobody for a pittance. The guy moved the team to Britain, changed their name to the Chuddley Canons and the rest, he said, was history._

_And before you ask, yes, I bought you a souvenir, but no, I am not going to tell you what it is. I sent it gift wrapped to The Burrow and told your parents that nobody could touch it in any way, shape or form until you got home to open it yourself._

Ron fell over backwards with a cry. “Wanker!” That was so not fair.

Sitting up, he continued reading.

_Okay, so, I’m going to get serious for a moment. I want your honest opinion about something. At the inn where I’m currently staying, I met the owner’s niece who works in the inn’s restaurant. We got to talking one day and she starts crying!_

Ron winced.

_I start freaking out-_

Who in their right mind wouldn’t? What were you supposed to do when someone you’re shooting the breeze with suddenly starts leaking all over the place? Talk about awkward.

_-and ask what’s wrong and she tells me that she’s pregnant and that the father just got married. Half of what she said I couldn’t understand because she was crying, but I was able to get the gist. I guess she slept with this guy who’s fiancée had just broken things off with him. By the time she realized she was pregnant, the guy’d gotten back together with his ex and now they’re married. So, my question is this: if you were the guy, would you want to know about the baby even if it meant destroying your marriage? I personally, have no idea what I’d do._

Now there was the million galleon question.

It all came down one question in the end: Who was more important, your child or your spouse?

Even though his wand arm, which was the same hand he used to write, felt just about ready to fall off, Ron stood up from his bed and went to his trunk that was situated at the end of the bed. He riffled through the seemingly endless piles of junk within in search of a spare piece of parchment, quill and some ink. Once he’d found them, he shut his trunk and plopping himself on the floor besides his trunk, penned out a letter to Harry. He rounded it off by emphasizing just how fun Auror training was.

“‘Wish you were here’,” he ended the letter. “Hope that helps mate.”

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Great Hall**

It was during dinner when an owl swooped into the hall and landed on the edge of Hermione’s plate. She looked up from her Transfiguration book with a frown, slightly confused. The owl was unfamiliar and she wasn’t expecting anything, especially so late in the day. Then she saw the pouch strapped around the bird like a harness. The familiar brand seared into the leather hide of the pouch let her know the owl was a post owl. The only one who would send her mail via post owl was Harry for he had not gotten another owl to replace Hedwig.

Marking her place, Hermione closed her text book and set it aside. Cutting a small hunk of ham, she fed it to the owl and retrieved the letter from the pouch. From the chicken scratch on the front of the envelope, she knew she’d been right. The letter was definitely from Harry.

“Who’s it from?” Ginny leaned around Seamus to ask as the owl took flight with the piece of ham clutched in his talons.

“Harry,” Hermione said as she slit open the envelope and pulled out the folded parchment within.

“Oh,” was all Ginny could say as she returned to her dinner, feeling awkward.

Squeezing her knee gently under the table, Seamus smiled at her reassuringly. He wasn’t a fool. He’d always known he was second to Harry, even when they dated for a short time several years ago. There was no competing with the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Defeat-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You would have to be delusional to even contemplate the possibility. Nothing has changed even now that Harry and Ginny had broken up. But as long as he had even a sliver of a chance of worming his way into Ginny’s heart, he was going to do whatever it took to make it happen.

Clasping her hand over his, Ginny returned the smile before turning towards a fellow seventh year girl named Cyndi who called out to her just then.

“Did you finish that essay on bunyips for Care?” he heard the girl ask.

Rolling his eyes, Seamus tuned them out. He’d dropped Care of Magical Creatures long ago, but he remembered it well, so he had no desire to find out what a bunyip was. Knowing Hagrid, they were most likely not at all related to small furry animals with long ears, soft fur and a short tail. Instead he turned towards Hermione. “So, what’s our esteemed Savior up to these-?” Seamus asked. He blinked down at the empty spot besides him. “Huh? Hermione?” He glanced around and spotted her just as she was leaving the Hall. “Hermione,” he called after her. “Where’s she going?” he asked nobody in particular.

Sitting across the table from him, Dean shrugged. “Maybe she’s late for a study session.”

 

* * *

 

**A Week Later - 12th April - Aotearoa (2) Manor - New Zealand**

In the end, Harry had decided to demolish the hunting lodge in Spain and lease the land to the Spanish Wizarding government. It was a temporary arrangement that would last as long as a primary wizarding school was present and in use on the location. If at any time the school failed to live up its charter or the school closed for whatever reason, the land automatically reverted back to Harry or whomever his heir was at the time.

The school, as set forth by Harry, could either be a boarding school such as Hogwarts or a day school. That decision was left to the Spanish government to decide. Either way, Harry wanted the school to cater to all wizarding children under the age of eleven whether they were Purebloods, Half-bloods or Muggleborns, aristocrats or non-aristocrat. He wanted all wizarding children, despite their upbringing or heritage, to be introduced and instructed at an earlier age on the ways of the other. He felt that this could quite possibly prevent another Wizarding war or even another Lord Voldemort. Communication and understanding went a long way.

Or maybe that was the naivety of the Gryffindor inside him.

It was an experiment; whether in futility or not was still to be seen.

He’d contacted his solicitor with the details and left it up to him to deal with and then hightailed it the hell out of Spain before the Spanish Wizarding President could parade him in front of the world’s media and ruin what was supposed to be a vacation away from the media’s eye.

Next month, he planned to visit the villa in Italy and then the beach house in Greece in June. In July, he planned to travel through France and check out the château. Though, if he was being honest with himself, it was the state of the vineyards and the winery itself that he was more interested in. Being fourteen weeks pregnant, he couldn’t partake in the sampling of the wine. But depending on how deteriorated the fields and the winery were and whether or not it would be worth it to bring them up to operational status, he might just restart production. As he knew nothing about owning or running a business, let alone a winery, he thought he’d ask Lucius to consult on the project as the Malfoys had their own winery.

Now, though, Harry was in New Zealand checking out the mansion that sat on ten beautiful acres. Unlike the hunting lodge, the manor was in perfect shape, if a little dusty.

He’d arrived a couple of days ago and with the help of Kreacher, who he’d called for from London, the two of them had been making steady progress in cleaning the place up and making it habitable. It was slow going, what with only the two of them, but well worth it. They’d uncovered so many wonderful treasures, including an old Potter family tree tapestry that had last been updated when his grandfather was born.

He might just keep this one. Of course, if he did, then he’d have to look into buying more house-elves in order to maintain the property. There was no way Kreacher would be able to be both here and at Grimmauld Place.

Having spent the entire morning once again in what his ancestors had taken to use as a dumping room of a sort digging through centuries of stuff, Harry made his way through the manor to the room he’d confiscated as his bedroom in order to get cleaned up for lunch.

Attached to the new master bedroom suite was a smaller room that might have been a walk-in closet at one point, but which Harry had decided to use as the nursery. The room itself already had a pretty substantial sized closet, much bigger than the attached walk-in, so what was the point of a second one?

He tossed open the double white doors and stood in the threshold to behold the grandeur that was his.

The room had an attached balcony that could be accessed from one of three sets of French doors and looked out over the backyard. At one time, it must have been a breathtaking view, but time had taken away the beauty of the manor grounds. Of course, he planned to have that remedied.

The cherry wood floor was in desperate need of care, but the white marble fireplace had only needed a little spit and polish to make it shine once again.

A single door on the right hand side wall to the left of the fireplace, if one was standing before the fireplace looking directly at it, led to the bathroom that featured a Jacuzzi sized sunken tub, beautiful travertine tile and chrome that had been polished to an inch of its life.

The double doors across the room on the left hand side wall led to the future nursery. It had yet to be furnished.

A black area rug laid out before the large hearth of the fireplace marked a sitting area that was made up of an antique Victorian couch and matching table set. Given the age of the furniture, it was in perfect condition.

Angled in the far corner before a set of open French doors that led out to the balcony was a desk.

A sideboard littered with empty liquor bottles--it was just as well--stood against the far wall between two sets of French doors. A second rug much like the one by the fireplace lay upon the floor before the sideboard.

Across the room from the sideboard was the bed. It was made of cherry wood like the floors and had four posters much like the beds at Hogwarts, though there were no bed curtains. There was a mountain of pillows though.

As Harry stepped into his room and turned to step into the bathroom, he caught sight of parchment rippling in the soft breeze on top of the desk.

He sneered at the sight of the letters he’d gotten from his friends several days ago.

It turned out he’d been right. He could still remember what Hermione wrote in response to his “I got a friend who has a problem” query. It’d been the same advice he’d been getting from Healer Iriye almost word for word. Telling Lucius he was going to be a father, again, was not the problem. It was Narcissa and Draco. They were the unknown factors. He wondered if Hermione and Ron would have the same opinion if he were to tell them the truth.

Sighing, Harry walked into the bathroom and shedding his clothes, crossed towards the standing shower and after adjusting the water to his liking, stepped under the spray. The tension seemed to melt right off him.

Again, he wondered how Draco would react to his being pregnant with his little brother. Maybe it was time to find out. Maybe Draco would let it slip to Lucius so that Harry wouldn’t have to break the news to the man himself. Yes, it was cowardly, but at the moment, that was how he felt.

 

* * *

 

**Evening - Three Months Later - 15th July - Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**

Some months ago, Draco received a letter from Harry along with an antique sterling silver snake brooch with encrusted emerald chips for eyes and diamonds along its body. It turned out the brooch was a onetime two-way portkey that would be just an ordinary brooch afterwards that Draco could keep. Apparently, Harry had something very important he wanted to discuss with him. Unfortunately, he’d been unable to get away until now, so he’d written a letter informing his friend to expect him that weekend.

Draco would even admit, never aloud though, to being a little nervous at the prospect of seeing Harry again. It’d been seven months and his feelings towards the man have only grown and solidified instead of waning as he‘d expected and hoped. He didn’t want to scare Harry off and he was afraid he would if he couldn’t keep a lid on his emotions around Harry. He also didn’t want things between them to become awkward should Harry be made aware of his more than friend-like feelings. After being at each other’s throat for so long, he’d finally become friends with Harry and did not want to blow things with him now.

“‘BIRCH _(Polygonum bistorta)_. Also called Snakeweed, Dragonwort, Sweet Dock. Carry a piece of the dried root to conceive,’” Draco read from the updated version of  Magical Spellwork & Knowledge for Everyday Life (3).

Unable to concentrate, Draco marked the page and set the book aside. Folding his hands together over his stomach, he gazed out the window at the flock of albino peacocks as they wandered passed.

He hoped he didn’t blow things with Harry.

 

* * *

 

**Mid-morning - That Weekend - 23rd July - Eastern France**

A family restaurant, Le Caveau (4), was situated within the small wizarding village of Lis (5) that was a short ten minute walk from the crumbling edifice that was Château du Lis (6) but right across the street from the small inn where Harry was staying.

The château (7) turned out to be in worse shape than the lodge in Spain. Not only was it crumbling, it was in ruins. Apparently, the château had been left to sit abandoned for several centuries and in that time the wards and other enchantments that had been placed on it fell. But it hadn’t been until the second Muggle World War that the castle met its present state. There was nothing but a few crumbling walls and a tower that could rival that of the Leaning Tower in Pisa; only magic was holding them in place. A few valuables had been salvaged from the wreck by the villagers, which now rest in the Lis Historical Society Museum, which was quite large given the size of the village. The village mayor had asked him if he wanted the items back, but Harry told him no. He decided to allow the museum to keep the items as part of a long-term loan--as long as they were on display; otherwise they had to be returned.

As for the château, he’d spoken to the town board and they had come to an agreement to open the château and its extensive grounds up to the public as a park. Of course, Harry and his descendants retained ownership and had the right to privatize the grounds and castle whenever they chose. The town board was all for the idea mostly because it would provide jobs and increase tourism for the area, which in turn would help boast the economy.

As for the vineyard and winery, it turned out to be in much better shape. All that was needed was a little TLC and a little pruning and they could be up and running in no time.

As for Harry himself, at twenty-eight weeks pregnant, Harry had been forced to use a glamour when out in public to hide his rather large baby belly; he felt like a freaking whale. The glamour was proving to be difficult to keep in place, though, what with the people of Lis being so touchy-feely. Glamour worked on sight; not touch. Anybody could “see through” even the most powerful glamour when touch was involved. Glamour was meant to fool the eyes not the hands, but so far, though, his glamour was doing just that; how that happened he had no idea and who knows how long it would last. He was sure a powerful enough witch or wizard would be able to break the glamour. Either that or repeated beatings from the good people of Lis.

As for the people of Lis, he was unsure if they were so amicable because of who he was--see “Savior”--or if it was because his family had a long history in this town. Either way, he appreciated them making him feel at home instead of some oddity on display.

He just wished he didn’t have to worry so much about his glamour shattering. He didn’t even want to picture the headlines that would inevitably follow. Of course, once his baby was born that was something he’d have to endure anyway. That was not something he was looking forward to. Maybe he could buy majority stock in all wizarding publications in Europe--he certainly had the money--so that he’d have control over what they published about his child. Him, he could care less about, but his kid was a whole other ball of wax.

The sweet tinkling of bells sounded through the restaurant just then.

“ _Bienvenu_ (8),” called out the same lady’s voice that had greeted him earlier.

Harry glanced casually over his shoulder. Standing by the glass front door was a familiar blond haired male. A wide toothy grin spilled across his face. Sliding out of the booth, with a little difficulty, Harry stood up and called out to his friend. “Draco!”

At the sound of his name, Draco glanced around. Their eyes locked. A grin similar to the one Harry couldn’t seem to wipe off his face was mirrored on Draco’s face.

By Merlin was it good to see him! Harry hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed his friend until this moment. He felt giddy and light as air, which was ironic giving the massive amount of weight he’d put on in the past twenty-eight weeks.

Draco looked good, Harry decided as he watched the other male waltz across the floor towards him with an ease Harry didn’t possess any longer. Draco had grown a few inches; or maybe that was the black dragon leather hide boots with their two inch heels. Actually, if Harry was not mistaken, those were the same boots Harry bought Draco for Christmas. Harry also noted that Draco had taken to slicking his hair back once again. Draco had even allowed it to grow out. It was far too short to be as long as his father’s but it brushed against his wide set shoulders as he moved. And those beautiful blue-gray eyes were more blue this afternoon and twinkled as they watched him in turn.

“What’s with you and black?” Harry teased as he allowed Draco to envelope him in his arms. He practically moaned as he inhaled Draco’s scent--musk and vanilla with a hint of cinnamon--that hit him with a sense of déjà vu.

As was always the case with the Malfoys, Draco was dressed very stylishly in the latest style of robes. He was wearing a sleeveless knee-length black robe that was fitted in the torso and flared out just above the hips. Harry knew for a fact that the new line of robes cost upwards in the hundreds of galleons. It and the fitted boot-cut black Muggle jeans framed a lean, toned and tight physique that practically had Harry drooling.

At Draco’s chuckle, a fiercely blushing Harry pulled himself forcibly out of his musings. He could not believe he was standing there checking out his friend. Yes, Draco was a good looking bloke, but still one did not check out one’s friends as if they were the main course at a banquet being hosted to a bunch of starving people; no matter that he couldn’t seem to help doing just that. Nor could he stop the shudder at the breathy laughter that whispered passed his ear. Certain parts of his anatomy tingled and hardened inappropriately.

“And what’s with the glamour?” Draco teased right back. “Hiding the weight you seemed to have gained in the past five months from your legion of fans?”

As if he’d been hit with a _stupefy_ , Harry froze. The warmth radiating from the reddish hue that had crawled up his neck to tint the entirety of his face vanished in an instant. It left his naturally tanned complexion ghostly pale. Draco’s words more effective than a cold shower, all thought of having wickedly improper thoughts about his newest best friend were forgotten; vanished like a well aimed _obliviate_. A nervous cold sweat ran down his spine. His mind went blank. Later, he would swear that his heart stopped just for a moment or two as did his breathing.

Like in one of his many nightmares, his mind started racing, but wasn’t going anywhere. His pulse was palpitating with panic. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Did Draco know? Had he somehow guessed?

Feeling Harry go stiff against him, Draco pulled away and eyed his friend. He grew concerned as his took in the paleness of Harry’s face. “You okay? Need to sit down? What happened?”

Hearing the echoing panic in Draco’s voice snapped Harry out of his own panic-induced thoughts. Forcing a smile on his lips that he hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt, he told his worried friend that he was fine. “Just felt a little dizzy for a sec,” he said. It really wasn’t that much of lie.

If this was how he felt now, how was he going to feel when he actually did tell Draco the truth?

But that was something to deal with later. For now, though, all he wanted to do was catch up with his friend; show him the sights of Lis, the château and the winery. Because once he confessed his secret, things were never going to be the same. That was something he was dead certain about.

“Maybe you should sit down then,” Draco suggested.

That sounded like a very good idea. When Harry stepped out of Draco’s warm embrace, he immediately regretted the move as he grew cold. He shook the reaction aside and slid back into the booth. Waving his hand at the booth, he invited Draco to sit. “They have great food here,” he told him.

Continuing to eye Harry in concern, Draco slid into the booth opposite. “Are you sure you’re alright? Should I call a Healer?”

With a soft, gentle smile playing upon his lips, Harry shook his head. “It’s fine, but thanks.”

Not fully convinced but willing to let it slide for the time being, Draco said, “Alright.”

Knowing how it sounded, Harry almost hated to think it, but having Draco so concerned about him made him feel all warm and tingly. Just the thought made him break out into a blush.

Seeing the pink hue coloring Harry‘s cheeks, Draco thought, _He’s cute when he blushes._ At least he wasn’t as white as a ghost anymore. His fingers playing with the edges of the menu, Draco said softly, “I didn’t mean anything by what I said before, ya know, with the gaining weight comment.” Lifting his head, he gazed across the table at Harry. “Actually, I think you look pretty good.”

At the comment, Harry’s blush darkened. “Thanks,” he mumbled in embarrassment.

“No offense, but you always looked anorexic, even with the toning due to quidditch.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about that observation.

“I think this backpacking tour of yours was a good idea.”

The blush was back.

A middle aged looking woman sauntered up to their table just then. She was wearing a short-sleeved baby pink polo shirt--that did nothing for her complexion--tucked into a pair of too tight black slacks. Secured around her waist was a black apron. She was holding in her hands a Muggle pencil and a pad of paper. “ _Bonjour_ ,” she greeted them with a tired smile. “ _Je m’appelle Clarice et je serai votre serveuse cet après-midi_ (9). Can I start you gentlemen off with something to drink?”

Harry was left blinking in surprise when the woman went from speaking French to English.

“You’re welcome,” Draco said as he put his wand away.

Harry had one of those “ah” moments. Draco must have used a nonverbal translation charm. Harry’d used them himself many times during his months long holiday, including when he was in Spain, Italy and Greece. But it really hadn’t been necessary here in France. He was far from being fluent, but ever since he learned he’d inherited property here, he started studying the language in preparation. And being surrounded by nothing but French speaking people twenty-four hours a day for the past several weeks did wonders for someone learning the language.

Smirking, Draco turned towards the waitress and ordered some tea in flawless French.

Sometimes, he forgot that Draco spent more time here in the French countryside than in England as a child. Draco once told him that French was, for all intents and purposes, his primary language. He didn’t start speaking English until he was five. But at the moment, all he was doing was showing off. _Wanker_ , he thought with a roll of his eyes.

The woman, Clarice, nodded and jotted down his choice. “And for you Mr. Potter?” It sounded to Harry’s ears as if she were speaking English, but knew that was not the case.

If Draco was going to be a prat by showing off, he might as well too. Turning towards the waitress, Harry ordered in perfect French, “I’ll have a large chocolate milk please.” At the raised eyebrow aimed his way from across the table, Harry smirked.

“Alright. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied once again in perfect French.

Sitting back in the booth, Draco regarded Harry with a thoughtful look. “You know French.” He sounded surprised.

“Very astute of you,” Harry said as he scanned the menu.

Draco snorted. “Git.”

Harry chuckled.

“Seriously, when did you learn it?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve been here nearly a month. Besides, once I learned I owned a winery here, I started learning.”

“Learning. As in the Muggle way?”

Rolling his eyes at the disgust Draco displayed at such tediousness, Harry nodded. “As in.”

“Potter,” Draco said, “you do remember you’re a wizard right?”

Harry frowned across the table at him. “Uh, yeah.” _Most of the time_ , he added. “Why?”

“Because you could have saved yourself all that wasted time and used a spell to learn French.”

“I am well aware of that.” _Now_ , he added silently.

Their waitress returned with their drinks just then. A plain white China teacup on a matching saucer was placed before Draco while a tall clear cup was set before Harry. “Are you ready to order or do you need a few minutes?” Clarice asked them in once again translated French.

“I’m ready. Draco?”

“I’ll have the steak and eggs.” Draco closed his menu and handed it over to the woman.

Taking the menu, the woman tucked it under her arm. “It comes with toast and home fries.”

Draco nodded. “That’s fine.”

The waitress asked, “How do you want the steak?”

“I would like the steak to be well-done please and my eggs over-medium. I’ll have rye toast if you have it.”

“We do,” Clarice confirmed with a nod as she jotted notes down for the order on her pad. “Okay, and for you?” she asked turning towards Harry.

“Two eggs over-medium, home fries, wheat toast, 2 pancakes and…” Harry couldn’t decide between the ham, bacon or sausage. They all sounded so good. “Ham,” he finally decided.

“Regular pancakes or pumpkin?”

Harry perked at that. “You have pumpkin?”

“Yes, sir, we do. Brand new.” The woman seemed proud of the new acquisition.

“Awesome! I’d like to try those please.”

“Alright. Is that all?”

Before Harry could add to his feast, Draco answered that it was and yanked the menu from Harry’s almost vise-like grip and handed it over to the woman, ignoring Harry’s pout.

“Thank you. If you need anything let me know,” she told them before turning away and heading towards the kitchen.

“A little hungry Potter?”

“Just a little.”

Draco chuckled.

“Pickles,” Harry said suddenly.

“…Excuse me?”

“Pickles.” Biting his lip, Harry gazed out over the diner in search of Clarice. “You think they have peanut butter?”

Draco’s head hurt. “What does one have to do with another?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Everything,” he said in a “duh” tone. “Can’t have one without the other.”

“Oh--kay. Are you sure you’re alright? That dizzy spell didn’t rattle anything loose did it?”

Wadding up a napkin, Harry tossed it at Draco’s head. “Ha. Ha,” he said dryly.

Draco snickered. “Anyway, Potter,” he said, leaning back in the cushioned booth, “what have you been doing with yourself?”

As they waited for their food, Harry told Draco all about the places he’s been, all the sights he’s seen and the decisions he’s made concerning the properties he inherited, including the villa outside Wizarding Tuscany and the beach house in Greece, both of which Harry was considering renting out.

“Really?”

Harry shrugged. “Not sure, but it’s something to think about. I mean, both are located in ideal locations and as far as I can tell, nobody ever lived in either location. They’ve just sat there for who knows how long empty and gathering dust. And who knows how often I’ll get the chance to travel in the future? I’d rather rent them out then let them sit there crumbling into dust like the lodge in Spain and the castle here.”

Draco nodded as he considered the argument. “Good point.”

Taking a sip of his milk, Harry continued, “I wanted to talk to you about the winery I inherited and the vineyard.”

“What about it?”

“The Malfoys have their own vineyard right?”

“Several yes. Plus a winery. Why?”

“Well,” Harry drawled, twisting his cup around the slick surface of the tabletop. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind lending me your expertise?”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. Intrigued, he folded his arms on the tabletop and leaned forward. “Do tell, Potter.”

And Harry did until their waitress reappeared floating a large round tray carefully before her.

“Steak and eggs,” she said, setting a large plate down on the table before Draco. A second smaller plate for the toast followed. “And for you.” Three plates were set down before Harry: one had the toast, a second one had the pancakes and the third had the two eggs, home fries and a slab of ham.

Harry’s stomach growled at the sight and smell of so much delicious food.

Draco felt nauseous.

Their waitress set down a small bowl of individual jellies and butter, a rack of four different syrups, ketchup, and steak sauce.

“Anything else?” she asked.

It was Harry who answered between shoveling food in his mouth as Draco was having difficulty comprehending thought let alone speech at the moment. “No thank you.”

“Okay. _Bon appétit_.” She gathered the large tray and greeted an older couple who stepped into the diner just then.

“Oo! Oo! Oh! Clarice,” Harry called suddenly over the low din of the diner.

Mortified, and wishing he were elsewhere, Draco slumped low in the booth.

“Do you have pickles and peanut butter?”

Draco retched a little in mouth.

“Yes, sir, we do.”

“Cool.” Suddenly bashful, he asked, “Do you think-?”

Clarice laughed softly. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” he beamed before settling down to his breakfast.

After his pickles and peanut butter arrived, Harry and Draco continued to eat in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the clinking of silverware against the plates and the occasional muffled belch from Harry.

Draco was nursing his third cup of tea as Harry was finishing the last of his breakfast--see “all you can eat buffet”.

With a satisfied sigh, Harry piled his utensils and the two smaller plates on the larger one and pushed it aside. Sitting back, he sipped his milk slowly.

“I cannot believe you finished that,” Draco said. And he couldn’t believe he actually finished his after witnessing Harry pile-drive into the copious amount of food he‘d ordered. He felt nauseous just remembering.

“I was hungry.”

Draco snorted, “Obviously.”

Harry chuckled. Sobering, he stared blankly down at the table. “Hey, Dray?” Now that the pleasantries were out of the way, it as time to ease into the subject that had him bring Draco here.

“Yeah?”

“Did you…Did you ever want, you know, siblings? Brothers or sisters?”

“Sure,” Draco admitted. “I’ve always wanted a brother. Why?”

Instead of answering, Harry asked another question. “Did your parents ever consider having more kids?”

“Sure, but my mother--She was what they considered ‘high-risk’.” Draco’s voice went neutral. “She had three miscarriages before she had me and afterwards--she had several more. Just as they were about to give up, Mother discovered she was pregnant…Unfortunately-, Lyra--was still born.” (10)

His eyes shimmering with the sting of unshed tears, Harry lifted a trembling hand to his mouth. “Oh, God.”

“Back then…” Draco let the thought trail off.

“Oh, Dray. I’m so sorry.”

With a small tight smile, Draco shook his head. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t, Harry could tell, but let it go. “What do you think of the name Scorpius?” he asked instead.

“Like the constellation?”

“Yeah.”

“Actually, my parents were considering the name had they had another boy.”

Biting his lip, Harry nodded.

“Why?”

“I’m, uh,” Harry stuttered, his face red and his pulse racing, “considering it for my son.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Plan on having children?”

Deliberately not looking at Draco when he spoke, Harry admitted with a nod, “In 12 weeks actually.”

Draco merely blinked at him. “Huh?” Harry’s voice hadn’t been much louder than a whisper, so Draco was thinking he hadn’t heard his friend right.

Sliding out of the booth, again with some difficulty, Harry tossed enough galleons on the table to pay the bill along with a sizable tip before turning towards Draco with an expression Draco couldn’t decipher. “Come for a walk with me. There’s-there’s something I have to tell you.” Why did he feel as if this was a mistake?

“What?”

Harry shook his head.

Sliding out of the booth, Draco followed Harry in silence, wondering where he was being led. Ten minutes later, he found out. It was Château du Lis, or what was left of it. It really was in ruins. What a tragedy. “Ever think about looking into having it rebuilt?” Draco asked if for nothing else than to put off what would inevitably be an uncomfortable talk. According to his father, the Manor had been rebuilt once or twice in its long history, so having the château rebuilt was doable even in its current state.

Harry shrugged as he stared up at the crumbling tower, his back to Draco. “Not really.”

“But if you plan on keeping the vineyard and winery going wouldn‘t you need a place here?”

“Hm. Good point. I’ll probably look into buying a new house or have one built or something.” He shrugged. It wasn’t something he was concerned about at the moment.

Draco nodded. “Well, let me know. I’ll get in touch with our people here in France. Their commission is outrageous, even for my standards, but well worth it.”

Unable to say anything in response for nerves were twisting his stomach into knots, Harry merely nodded. He suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten so much.

“So, Harry.”

_Here goes everything_ , Harry thought. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and dropped his glamour. His heart was beating so loudly it was a wonder Draco hadn’t said anything about it. Breathing out, he opened his eyes and turned around.

The reaction was immediate.

The gobsmacked expression on Draco’s face would normally have Harry laughing his ass off, because it was not an expression one saw on Draco Malfoy’s face. Ever. It looked so wrong.

“Do…?” Harry silently cursed. Closing his eyes again, he took a deep breath and then let it out slowly as he tried to organize his thoughts. He’d had this conversation in his head a million and one times, but now that the day was actually here, he couldn’t seem to get his brain and mouth to sync. “Do you…Dammit.” he fisted his hands over his eyes.

“You’re pregnant.” There was no emotion on Draco’s voice. The sentence was stated matter of fact.

Dropping his hands, Harry gazed at the blank blue-gray eyes that entranced him so much in both father and son. He nodded. “Twenty-eight weeks. It’s a boy.”

Draco dropped his gaze to Harry’s extended belly.

“Remember when your father told you about how he and I met at Lord Corfield’s party and we talked about investments? Well,” he continued, “he--lied. We didn’t talk at all.”

At first, Draco didn’t seem to react at all. Then his beautiful, hypnotic eyes narrowed and darkened. They were the color of the sky right before a storm. “You slept--with my father.” His voice was bland. It was empty of all emotion just as his face was.

Harry merely nodded.

Draco’s narrowed gaze zeroed in on Harry’s belly. With a disgusted sneer on his face, he asked, “And that--thing is-?”

The beginning of tears stung Harry’s eyes. Wrapping his arms around his belly, he nodded for the tightening of his throat prevented him from speaking.

Without another word, Draco turned sharply on his heel, the tails of his robe billowing out about him and stalked off back the way they came.

“D-Dray?” Harry called out around a sob. He’d expected yelling and screaming; a hex or two; being called a whore or home wrecker; something.

Halfway down the dirt drive, Draco halted and said, “Don’t. Just--don’t.”

“But-but what about-?”

Still without looking back, Draco told him, “I’ll talk to Father about consulting on the winery like I promised. Other than that…”

“Please,” Harry sobbed. He’d known telling Draco about the baby was going to be a bad idea! Why had he tried to convince himself otherwise? “Dray. I-I’m sorry! Your Father and I-”

“You and that--thing,” Draco continued as if he hadn’t heard Harry, “will stay away from my family or you will regret it.” With that, Draco disapparated with a particularly loud clap.

It felt as if his heart were breaking into a millions tiny pieces and each of those pieces were breaking into a million and so on and so forth until there was nothing but dust where his heart used to be.

Dropping his face in his hands, Harry slid to his knees there in the middle of the drive and sobbed.

 

**…To Be Continued…**

 

**(1) Hounds of Annwn** [anoon] : (Annwn is the realm of the Underworld); Hounds of the Wild Hunt.

**(2)** Aotearoa: _New Zealand Maori name for New Zealand_ , _(often used in combination), Aotearoa-New Zealand ._ [  < Maori , "land of the long white cloud," < _ao_ "cloud" + _tea_ "white" + _roa_ "long, tall"]

**(3)** Passage from Celtic Magic by DJ Conway

**(4)** _Le Caveau_ : vault

**(5)** _Lis_ : Lily

**(6)** _Château du Lis_ : (literally) Castle of the Lily

**(7)** _château_ : castle

**(8)** _Bienvenu_ : welcome

**(9)** _Bonjour. Je m’appelle Clarice et je serai votre serveuse cet après-midi._ : Good morning. My name is Clarice and I will be your waitress this afternoon.

**(10)** Lyra: a small prominent constellation of the northern hemisphere between Cygnus and Hercules. It contains a very bright star Vega and a planetary nebula Ring Nebula

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Feel free to correct any of my poor French please. It’s been a very long time and I’m a wee bit rusty. Anyway, you shouldn’t feel too bad for Harry or angry at Draco. Everything will work out in the end. And let it be known that I don’t give a flying rat’s ass what French restaurants are really like.


	4. Birthing Consequences

_Although loneliness has always been a friend of mine_   
_I’m leaving my life in your hands_   
_People say I’m crazy and that I am blind_   
_Risking it all in a glance_   
_How you got me blind is still a mystery_   
_I can’t get you out of my head_   
_Don’t care what is written in your history_   
_As long as you’re here with me_

**-“As Long As You Love Me”, Backstreet Boys, Backstreet Boys**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Birthing Consequences**

**A Week Later - 1st August - Afternoon - Aotearoa Manor - New Zealand**

It was official.

Harry wasn’t sure how it happened or when it happened. All he knew was that he was in love with Draco Malfoy. He was in love with the son of the father of his child. How messed up was that? And it had only taken being rejected to come to this life altering realization.

There was an almost inaudible pop behind him. Then a scraggly voice said, “Healer Iriye be here Master.”

Sniffling, Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows. The bed barely shifted beneath him at the movement despite the massive weight it was supporting. It continued to amaze him that the bed hadn’t collapsed beneath him by now. “Thank you Kreacher,” he said with a sniff as he dried his tear stained face with the hem of his shirt. His voice was thick from crying and thus did not sound like his own. “Show her up.”

Bowing, Kreacher vanished with a pop.

Sitting up, Harry propped the pillows behind his back and when he was satisfied, lay back against them with a sigh.

After having his heart ripped out, shredded and then stomped on for good measure last week in Lis, France, Harry had somehow made his way back to the inn he’d been staying at, packed his belonging, paid his bill and then returned here to New Zealand where he was, for all intents and purposes, sulking.

A bird fluttered passed the balcony doors, which were open to allow a light breeze to flow through the bedchamber.

There was a knock.

After clearing his throat, he called out in a voice that sounded more like his own, “Enter.” Harry turned his head to the side and watched as Healer Iriye stepped into the chamber and shut the white double doors behind her.

“Hello, Harry,” she greeted warmly with a large toothy grin on her face.

“Hi,” he returned her greeting with a smile that came out as more of a grimace.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded with a frown. “What happened? Is it the baby?” Her wand was in her hand and concern lined her face.

Harry shook his head. “He’s fine.” He turned away from her penetrating gaze.

Still frowning, Healer Iriye waved her wand over him in a series of complicated patterns.

“It’s-It‘s just-” An expected sob chocked his voice to a halt and a stray tear slipped down his cheek. Harry hastily brushed it aside and though he took a deep breath in order to try and calm himself down, his voice still came out not sounding like his own. “I met with Draco last week,” he confessed despite the tightness in his chest and the constriction of his throat.

“As in Draco Malfoy?” she inquired for clarification as she continued her diagnostic sweep. Her voice was as carefully neutral as her expression.

Harry nodded. “He’s become a good friend over the past year,” he admitted.

Healer Iriye hummed to indicate she was listening.

“So I thought I’d, uh, tell him about the baby, ya know?” he sniffed.

Stilling all movement, Healer Iriye asked, “Is he-?”

Harry shook his head vigorously.

Nodding, she continued waving her wand over her pregnant patient. “How’d he take it?”

A sob choked off any words he may have said, so he merely shook his head as his vision blurred behind a sting of tears.

Seeing the utter devastation on the young man’s face, Healer Iriye whispered, “I’m sorry.” Inwardly she cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. They seemed inadequate, but she wasn‘t sure what else to say. With her diagnostic scans of both mother and child complete, Healer Iriye lowered herself to the edge of the bed. “What happened?”

Unable to bring himself to repeat the exact words that had been Draco‘s parting words to him, Harry said, “He said that he-he didn’t want to see me or-my baby again.” Thinking about that day felt like being stabbed in the heart.

“He was angry.”

Harry barked out a laugh. It was not an amused sound. _That’s putting it mildly_ , he thought.

There must have been something about his expression or his reaction that was telling for Healer Iriye asked in such a soft voice that Harry almost couldn’t hear the question, “Are you in love with him?”

His eyes going wide, Harry went still. He stopped breathing. The only movement was the pounding of his heart. Its beats were so loud they drowned out all other sound. Was it that obvious?

“His rejection must have been devastating.”

Stifling a sob, Harry nodded as a single tear slid down his cheek.

“Do you think he feels the same way?” she asked.

Adamantly, Harry shook his head. He didn’t know anything about that. If Draco had harbored any un-friend-like feelings for him before last week’s blundered reveal, they would have turned into bitter resentment by now. “It doesn’t really matter either way now does it?” he asked rhetorically. His voice was laced with bitterness. Whether it was directed at Healer Iriye, Draco or himself, he was not sure. “Because I slept with his-” He cut his rant off with a silent curse.

Healer Iriye cocked her head to the side. “With his what?”

Something in Harry snapped. “His father okay? I slept with Draco‘s father. Lucius fucking Malfoy is the father of my child. Okay? Happy?” That type of betrayal wandered passed all levels. It contaminated everything. There was no going back from this.

To her credit, Healer Iriye’s face was blank. “Does he know?”

The anger vanished as quickly as it appeared. It left Harry drained and emptier than before. Wearily, he shook his head as he dropped his head back onto the mountain of pillows behind him.

Shaking her own head, Healer Iriye sighed. The longer Harry put it off, the harder it would inevitably become as he was no doubt beginning to realize.

Deciding it was time to change the subject, she stood up and said, “Speaking of which. It appears as if the baby is in as good health as are you.”

The first genuine smile in a week appeared on Harry’s lips. “Yeah?”

“You’ve obviously been taking your vitamins.”

“As prescribed,” Harry confirmed.

“Good. Do you need any refills?”

“I should be okay until next time.”

Healer Iriye nodded. “Okay. If you should need any before our next appointment, call the office.”

Harry nodded.

“Now, would you like to see him?”

His eyes going wide, Harry felt his heart skip a beat before it started racing in anticipation. “Oh yes, please!”

Chuckling lightly at his eagerness, Healer Iriye waved her wand once again over Harry’s belly. This time a wispy mist formed and rose. It hovered in the air above the bed and solidified as much as smoke could. It reminded Harry of a corporeal patronus.

“And there he is,” she announced with a grin.

“Oh!” This time when the tears came, they were spilled out of joy. Harry reached out with a trembling hand. The image wavered at his touch.

“It appears he’s sucking his thumb.”

Harry laughed around his quiet joyful sobs. “At least he’s not mooning us,” he deadpanned.

Healer Iriye laughed. It had taken well into the second trimester in order to determine the sex of the baby for the unborn Potter heir had taken to mooning them during each sonogram. Even now, three out of four ultrasounds were met with a pair of buttocks.

“ _A right Marauder_ ,” was what Harry said.

The creation of this child may have cost him any chance of being with Draco, though slim that possibility may have been, and the tentative friendship they’d developed may have fizzled, but seeing his beautiful little baby Asher James Lucius Malfoy-Potter made the pain from his heartache not hurt as bad.

It was too bad the image was monochromatic though.

“I wonder if you’ll look like your Daddy,” Harry pondered a loud.

At the sound of his mother’s voice, the unborn Potter heir popped its thumb out of his mouth and shifted. His hands flying to his belly, Harry let out a whoosh of air as he felt a pair of tiny feet slam against him. Then he laughed.

Healer Iriye continued to watch Harry watch his son. The gloomy air of misery had been dispelled thankfully and the pregnancy glow had returned.

Harry would be alright, she decided. After all, a broken heart was not the end of the world, especially when you had so much else to look forward to.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**

Lucius halted only briefly as he stepped into the dining room to see his son and heir’s seat once again empty. “And Draco is where today?” he asked his wife as he sat in his chair at the head of the table.

“He said he had some errands to run.”

Lucius nodded. Snapping the cloth napkin out of its intricate origami fold, he laid it over his lap. “And of course he cannot be bothered to take five minutes out of his oh so busy schedule to sit to a meal with his family?”

A house-elf appeared, poured them each a glass of white wine with a light fruity aroma and then disappeared.

“Draco has his own life darling,” Narcissa said as she picked up a fork and speared a piece of sliced peach. “He is no longer a child.”

“I am well aware of that,” Lucius said as he dug into his own fruit salad. “I am just saying-”

“If it bothers you so much then speak to him about it when he returns.”

“Yes. I think I will do that.”

Lucius was not sure what transpired a week ago during Draco’s visit with Harry, but his son has been avoiding him ever since. The few times he has run into his son, he was met with a scornful gaze and a cold shoulder. Resting his fork against the side of the bowl, Lucius reached for his wineglass, but stilled briefly as a thought occurred to him. Was it possible Draco somehow learned of his one-time rendezvous with Harry? Shaking the thought aside as a ludicrous notion, he took a sip of the wine. But throughout the rest of the light meal, Lucius could not shake the idea that somehow his son had discovered what had transpired between himself and Harry back in December. Maybe he should contact Harry and ask him.

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Veni Café - Diagon Alley - London, England**

Harry’s birthday was yesterday, Draco realized with a start.

Sighing, he lowered his fork. Picking up the cloth napkin from his lap, he dabbed at his lips before throwing the napkin on the table. He’d suddenly lost his appetite.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure how to feel about the discovery he’d made last week. Harry and his father? A shudder raced up his spine. He nearly retched at the mental image.

_Great. Now I’m going to have nightmares_ , Draco thought in derision.

He was not sure what it was about finding out Harry had slept with his father that upset Draco the most. It wasn’t so much that his father had an extramarital affair since his parents had been separated at the time. Though, if he were being honest, the idea that his father had been intimate with someone other than his mother while still technically married was distressing and infuriating. That his father was old enough to be Potter’s father was a huge factor. The mere thought of Lucius having a sexual relationship with someone younger than his own son was repulsive. Or maybe it was that the child his father and Harry had created together was going to be eighteen years his junior. He was old enough to be its father!

But no. That wasn’t it; or not the entirety of what had him so distraught and troubled--and maybe just a little bitter--over the whole situation. He was envious of his father. Had circumstances been different, the child Harry carried would have been his father’s grandson and not his son. Draco wanted the child Harry was carrying to be his heir and not his little brother.

“Ah! Draco! Draco darling,” drawled an annoyingly sweet voice.

_Where in Hades did she come from_ , Draco asked himself with a cringe at the sight of Rita Skeeter, followed faithfully by her photographer as well as her Quick-Notes Quill and notebook, rushed towards him as fast as her three-inch heels could carry her.

“A couple questions please, Draco?”

What Draco wouldn’t give to disapparate the pathetic excuse for a journalist to the Antarctic. Of course, he would have to put up anti-apparition wards otherwise the pathetic excuse for a journalist would just apparate back home, which would defeat the purpose of sending her to the South Pole.

Pasting on a smile, he turned to greet the woman. “Rita, darling. How good it is to see you this fine day. You are looking as stunning as ever.”

Preening under the flattery, Rita made a motion to her cameraman who snapped her picture. A cloud of flash powder hung over the three of them.

Managing to sneer without actually sneering, Draco removed the soot from his person with a subtle wave of his wand as he started to list the hexes he could use against her without being caught. It was a long list. “What can I do for you, Rita dear?” he asked the woman as he forced the smile back onto his face.

“I wanted to get your opinion on the sudden nuptials between Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger,” she began. Her quill moved rapidly on a clean sheet of notebook paper, then paused.

“Ah.” He’d been wondering when the vultures would start circulating. It’d only been an hour.

“What do you make of them snubbing our Savior their _supposed_ best friend?”

Draco narrowed his gaze at the audacity of the woman. She hasn’t changed one iota; still trying to create conflict and controversy where none exists. “Actually,” he said, “ _Ms. Skeeter_ , they made the decision last minute to elope as Ronald is in the middle of Auror training and Hermione has been granted an internship in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures under Head LeBrock himself. Nobody knew of the elopement; as I said it was a last minute decision. Nobody was invited, not Mr. and Mrs. Weasley nor Mr. and Mrs. Granger. They knew nothing of their children’s intentions.”

Rita seemed disappointed with his answer. If she was expecting a statement of the sort Draco would have given a couple of year ago, she was in for an even bigger disappointment.

Not to be stonewalled, Rita pressed, “Yes, but why the secrecy?”

“That is the nature of an elopement, Ms. Skeeter,” Draco drawled. “Why does any couple elope? The reasons vary. I happen to know that Ronald and Hermione decided to elope because they wanted to avoid the media blitz,” he said as if it should be obvious, which he thought it was, “for one thing.” One cannot exactly enjoy one’s wedding day when every paparazzo and journalist in the known world was pounding down one’s door. Nobody appreciated wedding crashers. “For another, they do not have the time currently for a proper Bonding Ceremony as, as I said before, Ronald is in the middle of Auror training and has to report back to the Academy in two weeks and Hermione begins her internship with Head LeBrock a week later. Besides, Harry is currently out of the country on business. However,” he continued, raising his voice above her, no doubt, sickeningly sweet tones of protestation, “Ronald and Hermione plan to have a proper Bonding Ceremony after Ronald graduates from the Academy.”

He mentally cheered as Rita looked put out. It looked as if she was not getting what she’d been hoping for. But then her eyes brightened.

“And what about Mr. Potter. You claim he is out of town on business?”

Draco simply answered with a, “Yes,” and no more.

There was silence for several heartbeats as Rita no doubt waited for elaboration which Draco had no intention of doing.

“If I may be permitted to inquire as to--what sort of business?”

“You may not.”

Rita actually pouted. “What does Harry have to say about the secret elopement between his two best friends?”

“He wishes them all the best. Now, if you’ll excuse me; I have an appointment I simply cannot miss.” With a tip of an imaginary hat, Draco wheeled about with a dramatic flourish that would have made his godfather proud and sauntered off down Diagon Alley.

It was not until he was entering Mathias Goode’s Apothecary five minutes later that he realized he had not once slandered Harry even though he‘d had plenty of opportunities.

 

* * *

 

**The Next Morning - 2nd August - Aotearoa Manor - New Zealand**

Harry was shoveling corned beef hash into his mouth when two owls came soaring into the breakfast nook. One was a rather large eagle owl with tufts of feathers on its head that looked like horns. Its plumage was such a dark brown color that if Harry didn’t have his own raven locks to compare it to, he would have described the owl’s feathers as black. The other was a standard barn owl. Relieving both of their post, he summoned the box of owl treats and fed both a handful. Afterwards, the barn owl took off while the eagle owl merely flew to the back of the chair opposite him and eyed him curiously with a tip of its head first one way and then the other.

There was something familiar about this owl.

He waved his wand silently over the scrolls. They unfurled so they were laying flat on the table and grew to three times the size they had been when they were delivered.

He picked up the nearest one. It turned out to be from Ron and Hermione. A single tri folded sheet of parchment was tucked inside the sealed envelope along with a photograph.

“Oh wow,” he breathed as he took in the moving picture of his two best friends.

A beaming Hermione was wearing a floor length, fitted white gown. A sheer overlay was covered in hundreds of cubic zirconiums around the waist. Diamonds sparkled in her ears and a single teardrop diamond pendant hung around her neck. A diamond bracelet was clasped around her wrist. The jewelry had come as a set that Harry had given to Hermione last Christmas. Hermione’s hair was pinned up with tendrils hanging loose around her face. Her makeup was expertly done. She looked absolutely breathtaking.

With his arms wrapped possessively around Hermione’s waist, Ron went from grinning like a lunatic towards the camera to smiling sweetly at Hermione. His ginger hair, which had grown to brush passed his shoulders, was loosely slicked back. Harry noted and chuckled at the beginnings of a goatee. At least it was well maintained and not a ghastly mess. Instead of dress robes, Ron was wearing a two-piece charcoal gray suit. The jacket had been left open to reveal a plum colored dress shirt that had the top two buttons undone. What had Harry laughing aloud were the sneakers.

Setting the picture aside, Harry picked up the letter that had accompanied the photo.

_Harry-_

_You now have the privilege of addressing us as Mr. and Mrs. Ronald B. Weasley._

Harry choked. He hadn’t actually been serious when he said they should just elope.

Last Christmas, Hermione surprised Ron by asking him to marry her. They kept their engagement a secret until Hermione let it slip during the graduation ceremony back in June. The next day, Harry received a frantic letter from Ron. His mother had hijacked the wedding and was driving both him and Hermione up the wall. Harry made a comment, joking really, about how they should just elope then. One day, get up before anybody was awake, go down to the Ministry and get married by a Justice of the Peace--or whatever the wizarding equivalent was. He’d had no idea they would take him serious.

_We took your advice._

Groaning, Harry slumped down in his chair.

_Early this morning,-_

That would have been yesterday morning, Harry decided given the date scrawled at the upper left-hand corner.

_-Ron and I went to the Ministry before even Molly was up (and we all know she gets up hours before dawn), filled out the necessary paperwork and two hours later, we were Mr. and Mrs. An hour after that, the news of our nuptials had spread across all of Great Britain thanks to our good friend Rita Skeeter._

Harry sneered at the mention of the woman who had helped to make his teen years a miserable rollercoaster ride. Like a bad rash, that vile woman popped up everywhere and at the most inconvenient times. Too bad there wasn’t a--legal--cream to get rid of her.

He didn’t bother wondering how she found out about his friends’ elopement.

_The article she wrote was surprisingly tasteful, though she did insinuate an insinuation._

With a roll of his eyes, Harry snorted. “Of course she did,” he muttered. It was probably about how he hadn’t been invited to the ceremony, or some such rot. He could just picture the headlines.

**“Trouble for the Golden Trio?”**

**“The Golden Trio not so Golden”.**

**“The Savior Saves Wizarding Britain from Mad Self-Proclaimed Dark Lord But Cannot Save Friendship”.**

It would be just like Rita to overlook the meaning of “elopement”.

_It would have been much worse, but thanks to Malfoy, it wasn’t._

Harry was left blinking in stupefied wonder at that. Given the strained relations between the two of them, Harry would have thought Draco would use any excuse to blast him. What did it mean that he hadn’t?

_I was pleasantly surprised. Ron thinks Malfoy has some ulterior motive. I just think Malfoy’s finally grown up. I would have included the article, as I’m not sure if you would have access to The Daily Prophet wherever you are this week, but the nonsense Skeeter writes doesn’t need any more attention than necessary._

_Anyway, we’re sorry you couldn’t be here, but you can make it up to us by paying for our formal Bonding Ceremony. And just so you know, I plan on picking out the most expansive wedding dress I can find._   
_Oh and Ron says you can pay for his Bachelor Party in Tahiti._

Harry tossed his head back and laughed.

_Promising to have a formal ceremony after Ron graduates from the Academy was the only way to placate Molly who, as you can guess, was not too happy when she learned what Ron and I did. I have no regrets though and neither does Ron._

_Hope to see you soon._

Harry had to grin at the signature at the bottom.

_Love Mrs. Ronald Bilius Weasley_

With an amused shake of his head, a still chuckling Harry set the letter aside and reached for the other. The fancy Edwardian Script calligraphy on the front of the envelope did not look familiar, but the seal stamped into the red wax on the back did. Harry gulped as he took in the Malfoy crest. Suddenly nervous, he carefully peeled back the hardened wax globule, lifted the flap, and pulled out a single sheet of parchment. Setting the envelope aside, he unfolded the letter. Automatically, his eyes roamed to the end of the letter for the signature. His heart skipped a beat and his eyes widened. “Lucius,” he whispered in shock and surprise.

Slumping back in the padded bench, a hand fluttered to his rounded belly where his son slept soundly--for the moment.

_Harry-_

_I have heard from my son that you are “backpacking” across Europe while your townhouse in London undergoes extensive renovations. I have to admit to being envious. I always wished to travel, but was forced by my father to marry Narcissa right out of Hogwarts and did not have the time as most of it thereafter was devoted to my young wife and our troubles in conceiving a child as well as my internship at the Ministry. But now that Draco is of age and will be furthering his studies by interning with world renowned Healer Dafyyd ap William,-_

“Wait. What? Draco never said anything about that,” Harry muttered feeling slightly hurt. _Then again_ , he thought as his heart clenched, _he never really had the opportunity._

Even Harry had heard of Healer Dafyyd ap William. He invented many of the basic first aid salves, creams and potions modern Healers and Mediwitches such as Madam Pomfrey used as well as the anti-nausea potion that was safe enough for pregnant witches and wizards to use. That Draco was granted an internship with this particular Healer was remarkable. It was said ap William never took apprentices or interns.

_But now that Draco is of age and will be furthering his studies by interning with world renowned Healer Dafyyd ap William, I can finally relax and enjoy my retirement. I can also devote more time to overseeing the Malfoy vineyard and winery in France, which reminds me. Draco informed me of your proposition. I had no idea the Potters had a winery in Lis, but I would be honored to help you in any way I can._

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Despite the turn his life took this past week, Harry’s plans to restart the Potter winery had not changed. That Lucius would willingly agree to help him was astonishing--to say the least, but then again the man did willingly sleep with him on New Years Eve, so it shouldn’t be too surprising that Lucius would offer his services when it came to business matters.

_Just send word through Morrigu-_

Must be his name, Harry assumed as he glanced up at the eagle owl that was still perched on the back of the chair opposite him.

_-as to when it would be convenient for you and we can meet to discuss matters._

Harry wrapped his arm around his belly. “Discuss matters, huh?” That they certainly did.

At first, he hadn’t informed Lucius about his pregnancy because he didn’t want to be the reason the Malfoy marriage, which was tenuous at best, ended. Now, he was afraid to tell Lucius because of what happened when he told Draco.

He knew it wasn’t fair to compare the two. A son discovering that his friend had slept with his father and had subsequently become pregnant was going to have a far different reaction than the father finding out his one-time lover was pregnant with his child. Of course, Draco was going to be angry at Harry for sleeping with his father. Had their positions been reversed, Harry would have hexed Draco into the next millennium. It was one thing to know things like this happened, but it was a different matter when it involved your father and your friend. He would have been suspicious had Draco been understanding about the affair. But it did get him thinking that maybe Lucius wouldn’t be so welcoming either.

Shaking off the anxiety to deal with at a later date, Harry returned to the letter.

_There is also another matter I would like to inquire about. It involves Draco._

Harry gulped.

_Did something happen between the two of you? Draco has not been the same since he returned. He has been aloof and cold. He has also taken to avoiding me whenever possible. Did you perhaps inform him of our tryst? If so, please be assured I am not angry. I would just like to know so that I know how to approach my son._

_Hoping you are well._

_Lucius_

With a sound curse, Harry tossed the letter onto the table and dropped his face into his hands. This was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.

Lucius’ owl Morrigu hooted softly.

Sighing, Harry raised his head and gazed at the dark brown owl.

When his son started performing summersaults then, Harry dropped both hands to his belly. “Shush now,” he ordered softly. He tried his best to ignore the rising nausea. “It’s okay. Mama’s just a little--conflicted.” He continued cooing to the unborn Potter heir until he settled back down. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “And now Mama has to go pee,” he added as his son pressed against his bladder. Sometimes, he felt as if his son did that on purpose.

He loved being pregnant and he loved his son, but if it wasn’t morning sickness it was the urge to go to the bathroom fifty million times an hour.

Calling out for Kreacher to aid him, Harry made his way up to the room he had commandeered as his office in order to write some letters, after first making a detour to go to the bathroom.

He couldn’t wait until October.

“I am never getting pregnant again,” he muttered.

 

* * *

 

**The Next Afternoon - 3rd August - The Burrow - Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

Amidst the laughter that filled the backyard, Seamus took a sip of the homemade lemonade Molly made that morning. He then turned towards Hermione. “Have you heard from Harry lately?”

“Actually,” Hermione replied, “we received a letter from him this morning.”

“He’s in New Zealand last he said,” Ron added from the other side of his wife.

“New Zealand,” Seamus echoed in surprise. “Wow.”

“What’s he doing there?” Ginny inquired politely from the other side of her boyfriend.

“Says he inherited property,” Ron says.

“Always wanted to go to New Zealand,” Bill spoke up from across the table. “Never had the chance though.”

“I had the opportunity years ago,” Charlie said from besides his brother, “but at the last minute I decided not to go. Regretted it ever since.”

Fleur, who was pacing back and forth behind her husband with their fussing daughter on her hip, said, “I went with Mama and Papa when I was a child. It is a beautiful country!”

“What is?” Molly asked as she returned with a large bowl of fruit salad.

“New Zealand,” Ginny told her.

“You know, your father and I went there years ago.”

Charlie said, “Really? I never knew that.”

The rest of the Weasley brood seconded that.

Bill exclaimed, “When was this?”

Molly set the bowl down on the magically expanded picnic table and said as she took her seat at the end of the table, “Oh this was long before either you or Charlie were born.”

“Well, Harry said to tell everyone hi,” Hermione said as the food was passed around.

As expected, there was a chorus of “Hi’s” and “Hello’s” followed by laughter.

The conversation turned to other things then. Ron, Seamus and a late arriving George and Arthur began a heated discussion about quidditch. Fleur decided to put her daughter down for a nap while Molly and Bill inquired into Charlie’s recent promotion and Ginny asked Hermione where she and Ron planned to go for their honeymoon.

All was well at The Burrow. The only element missing was Harry, but according to the letter they received that very morning, he claimed he would return to England sometime in October. They could hardly wait for the missing member of their family to come home, especially Hermione who planned on making her friend pay through the nose for vanishing as he had. But she wondered what he’d meant when he’d said in the P.S., “You’re going to have to conjure another chair at the table.”

 

* * *

 

**Same Time - Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**

Lucius sat in his study, but no work was being done. Instead, he was staring out the bay window that overlooked the west lawn where the albino peacocks strutted.

When the Dark Lord took over Malfoy Manor as his headquarters, the peafowl vanished from the grounds they had been present on for many generations, but one day not long after the Dark Lord fell, Lucius woke to find the birds had returned. What was it but a sign?

He watched as one of the returned albino peacock’s strutted passed the window with its young.

Tearing his gaze from the window, Lucius turned to the letter clasped loosely in his hand. It was from Harry.

It turned out Harry had informed Draco of their affair. Lucius had suspected as much given the stoical way his son and heir had been behaving.

_…I never meant to come between you and your son. For that I apologize, but I will not apologize for informing Draco of what transpired between us at Lord Corfield’s New Year’s Eve Ball. Draco is my friend and I could not in good conscience keep this from him…_

But it was the last line that filled the Malfoy patriarch with a sense of pride.

_…But that doesn’t mean I have any regrets about that night for I do not. I didn’t regret it then and I do not regret it now._

Lucius’ smile faltered as he thought about his wife. How would Narcissa take the news of his having taken a lover briefly while they had been separated? He had a feeling she would take it just as well as their son had.

Folding the letter, he stuffed it back into the envelope and locked it in the top drawer of his desk.

Now he just had to find the right time to tell his wife about Harry.

 

* * *

 

**Three Months Later - 31st September - Morning - Aotearoa Manor**

Three months. It had taken three months for Harry to work up the courage to write to Draco. Honestly, where did all his Gryffindor courage disappear to?

“Itsy,” he called from behind the antique desk in his study.

A moment later, an androgynous house-elf appeared before him. It bowed so low that its long floppy ears batted against its knobby knees and its long spindly nose brushed the carpeted floor. “What can Itsy do for Master?”

Itsy, along with its sibling Bitsy, were the new house-elves Harry had procured for the manor in New Zealand. Itsy was in charge of the manor itself while Bitsy was in charge of maintaining the exterior. With them to take care of Aotearoa, Kreature had returned to London to oversee the last of the renovations on Grimmauld Place.

“I need you to mail this for me,” Harry said holding out the letter.

Itsy came forward and grabbed the letter. With a bow, it vanished with a pop--he still wasn‘t sure if it was a male or a female and it seemed rude to ask.

Sighing, Harry leaned back in the cushioned reclining desk chair. Closing his eyes, he folded his hands over his ginormous belly. His lips titled up in a smile. Any day now. Any day now, he’d-

His thoughts were cut off by a sudden stabbing pain emanating from his belly that was gone as quickly as it appeared. With a gasp, he flew upright; his arms hugging his belly protectively. Emerald eyes snapped open and stared unseeingly across the room at the grouping of furniture around the large fireplace.

“What the fedge?” he whispered in fright and uncertainty.

 

* * *

 

**The Next Day - 1st October - Morning - Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**

Draco could honestly say he had never worked or been worked harder in his entire life than he has working as an intern with Healer ap William, but he had also never felt more satisfied. He was not sure why he had been chosen over all the other potential candidates, not that he was complaining mind you, but he was glad he had been chosen. To know that there were others out there--other than Harry that was--who could see beyond the end of their noses was a relief.

Spearing a piece of strawberry with the tings of his fork, Draco popped the sweet fruit into his mouth just as a house-elf appeared with the morning’s mail clutched in its hands.

After dabbing his mouth with his cloth napkin, Draco picked through the mail. There was a letter from Blaise; a missive from Gringotts, probably about the account he’d opened; what appeared to be an invitation of some sort from Pansy; and a letter from Harry.

Setting all the other mail aside, Draco stared down at Harry’s letter. A well of emotions surged within him; among those were anger, disappointment, betrayal, confusion, but most prominent was love.

It had been three months since then and Draco’s feelings for Harry had only intensified in that time.

He truly was an idiot to be madly in love with someone who obviously did not and was never going to return his feelings. Instead, he should hate Harry, but he didn’t though. Merlin knows he tried to rid himself of these romantic feelings, but all he’d managed to do was cause their grip around his heart and soul to tighten. He just could not hate Harry to the degree it would take to erase the feelings of love and admiration he felt for the man. Yes, he was disgusted and upset over Harry’s tryst with his father, but Harry continued to haunt his dreams.

His pulse racing, his palms sweating and his hands trembling, Draco tore open the envelope and pulled out the folded parchment within. He set the envelope aside then unfolded the letter. Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held it for a five-count before exhaling slowly. Calmer, he scanned the letter.

_Draco-_

_I miss you. I miss that haughty attitude of yours; that silken blond hair; those beautiful eyes that seem to change depending on your mood or what you are wearing; the overpriced clothing; your quiet chuckles; your deep-throated laughs; that smirk; that sneer; the scent of musk, cinnamon and vanilla that surrounds you._

Draco’s face grew warm.

_I never knew you could miss somebody so much. Losing Sirius hadn’t been this bad and I‘m still mourning his death._

Draco understood that pain all too well. Something so life altering stayed with you forever.

_Watching you walk away from me back in Lis broke my heart. It felt as if my entire world had crumbled. And knowing that with a single action, not only had I betrayed your trust, but whatever there had been between us was obliviated…It killed a part of me. I cried for a week straight._

It felt as if his heart was strapped in a vise and its jaws were slowly closing. Draco was not such a Gryffindor as to admit it aloud, but he had done his share of crying as well over the past three months.

_I guess that saying has some truth to it after all. You never know what you have until it’s gone._

Not sure precisely what that was supposed to mean, Draco frowned down at the letter.

_You probably don’t want to hear this, but I want to explain what happened between your father and me._

Draco sneered.

_What it all comes down to is this: both of us were having relationship troubles and we were lonely. What we found in each other that night was comfort and companionship. It was a single night of passion in order to ease the loneliness. Of course, having discovered I was pregnant complicated matters just a tad._

Draco snorted. “You think?”

_I’ll be honest with you. I am attracted to your father. He’s a very good-looking man and your mother is a very lucky woman. But I am not in love with Lucius._

Sitting up straight, Draco reread that line several more times.

_You have nothing to fear from me for I have no intention of coming in between him and your mother. The last thing I want is to become “the other woman”. I already feel guilty for having caused you so much pain and betrayal. I don’t wanted the added responsibility of knowing I caused your family to break apart. That’s why it’s taking me so long to tell your father about our child. I fear his denial and your mother’s reaction to her husband’s love child. As I said, I don’t want to be a home wrecker. All I want is a father for my child. Whether that means Lucius acknowledges our child publicly or not, I don’t care. As long as he accepts and acknowledges our son’s existence and treats him as such that is all I ask. I’d also like it if his big brother were to give him the same consideration. Maybe teach him what it means to be a Malfoy, look out for him. You know, just be there for him. And possibly be his godfather?_

Draco’s blue-gray eyes widened minutely in shock. There was a sudden lump in his throat making it difficult to swallow.

_I’d also like it if we could come to some sort of understanding, for my son’s sake._

_I don’t know what else to say other than I’m so sorry that I hurt you. That was never my intention. Hopefully, one day I can have the privilege of calling you my friend once more._

_I love you._

_Harry_

_P.S. Congratulations on the internship._

His heart just about stopped. He had to reread it several times before he was convinced he wasn’t reading something that wasn‘t there. How many times had he dreamt or wished that he would hear those three little words uttered from Harry’s lips? Harry never said them though, not even to Weasley or Granger. He wasn’t even sure if he ever told the Weaselette that he loved her when they were dating. “’I love you,’” he reread in breathy awe. He barely glanced at the postscript let alone paid attention to it.

With a soppy grin on his face, Draco glanced out at the unseasonably warm fall day.

While he was far from ready to forgive Harry for sleeping with his father, maybe they could come to some sort of understanding and possibly one day, go beyond it.

 

* * *

 

In a white flowing dressing gown, Narcissa was in what had once been the nursery sitting at her vanity table brushing out her long blond-colored hair. The nursery, which was attached to the master bedroom, had been converted into her own personal dressing room by Lucius on her request after their daughter was stillborn.

_“Lucius, darling, I was thinking about having the nursery converted into a dressing room. What do you think?”_

Who knew one simple sentence could have such a deep meaning behind it?

A crystal Georgian cut chandelier hung from the ceiling over two antique marble topped sideboards that had been pushed together. In the far corner of the room near the sole window was a chaise longue--another antique. Her collection of shoes and jewelry and other accessories she had acquired over the years filled specially designed shelving on one side of the room while her numerous clothes filled the other half. Lucius had once commented that her dressing room rivaled that of any high-end fashion store.

At a sudden noise behind her, she turned around. Standing in the doorway watching her was her husband. “Morning Lucius,” she greeted as she turned back around and continued brushing her hair.

“Morning,” Lucius returned the greeting with a nod of his head.

Catching her husband’s reflection in the vanity mirror, Narcissa frowned. “Has something happened?” she inquired.

“Yes--no--yes.”

Narcissa set her brush down next to the matching hand mirror and turned around to face him. “Which is it? Yes something happened or no something has not happened?”

With a heavy exhale, Lucius silently stepped into his wife’s dressing room and crossed towards her. He sat upon the red velvet chaise longue. For a brief moment or two, he stared at something over her shoulder, his features frowning in thought, before he sat up straight and turned to regard her. His face was closed from all expression.

“Lucius?”

“Cissa, darling, there is something I would like to talk to you about.”

“It must be something serious,” she said. “I don’t believe I have ever seen you so hesitant.”

“It is,” Lucius said with a solemn nod.

Growing worried, Narcissa‘s first thought was of their son. “Is it about Draco? Has-?”

Lucius shook his head. “This has nothing to do with Draco.”

Narcissa’s relief was short lived. “Lucius you’re starting to scare me. What is going on? What‘s this about?”

Dropping his gaze, Lucius studied the white shag carpet in silence for several long moments before he lifted his head and catching his wife’s tormented gaze. “Something happened at Byron’s ball this past News Year’s Eve.”

Now, she was really worried.  


* * *

 

**Same Time - Aotearoa Manor - New Zealand**

Harry was doing the controlled breathing exercises he’d learned in the Lamaze classes Healer Iriye had been kind enough to offer him as Itsy spoke through the floo to Healer Iriye.

It has been a whole day since the cramping initially began. Instead of stopping, which they’d done several times throughout the third trimester of his pregnancy, the cramping was steadily increasing in duration, intensity and frequency. This led Harry to the obvious conclusion that these were indeed genuine contractions, and not false labor pains. To say he was officially scared shitless would be an understatement. He would rather face a thousand Voldemort’s right about now. The contractions were far enough apart that Harry knew he had some time before he had to get to the hospital, but were close enough for him to start worrying.

Healer Iriye had originally scheduled him to check into the hospital for a C-section on the fifth. Here it was the first.

“It sounds as if you are in labor,” Healer Iriye was saying from the green flames as Itsy looked on nervously.

“You think?” Harry panted out an irritated snap from where he was laying on the sofa. His knuckles were white from gripping the sofa beneath him. The intricately carved wood work that projected along the back of the sofa was cracked under his hand. His entire body was coated with a thick layer of sweat. When the pain that had racked through his abdomen for the past five minutes started to ease, he breathed a sigh of relief.

This not being her first time with an expectant mother, Healer Iriye merely smiled. “What I want you to do is check into the hospital. Can you get there alright?”

It was Itsy who said, “I be helping Master Harry,” with its chest sticking out and its head held high.

Using the back of the sofa as leverage, Harry eased up onto his elbows. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Good. I’ll meet you there.”

When Healer Iriye vanished from the flames, Harry ordered Itsy to get his overnight bag. He’d only just finished packing it yesterday morning not long before the contractions began. He then called for Bitsy and told it to look after the manor in his absence. “Itsy will be coming with me to the hospital.”

“Yes, sir, Master Harry. Bitsy will be taking good care of the manor in Master‘s absence.”

It took both Itsy as well as Bitsy to help lumber him up off the sofa.

With his bag in its hands, Itsy followed him into the fireplace. Harry tossed a handful of floo powder down into the hearth and said calmly and clearly, “Nantosuelta Private Hospital.”

 

* * *

 

**The Next Day - 2nd October - Morning - Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**

Breakfast in the Malfoy household that particular morning was strained. True to his word, Lucius told his wife about his tryst with Harry and just as he thought, she had not taken the news too well. It was not so much the affair itself as it was with whom he had chosen to have the one-night stand with. Not only was Harry a month younger than their son, he was also friends with their son.

In all honesty, Lucius had not thought about it in those terms. He had always known Draco wouldn’t take the news well because of his feelings for Harry just as he had known Narcissa wouldn’t like hearing about him taking a lover. He had not taken Harry’s age into account or the fact that he and Draco were friends.

At least Narcissa had not removed herself from the master bedroom as he had expected her to do; nor had she kicked him from the bed, so that in itself was a blessing.

The only sound in the dining room that morning was the clink and scrape of silverware as well as the sound of chewing and swallowing that seemed excessively loud.

The monotony was shattered when a house-elf appeared with a single piece of post on a sterling silver platter alongside a matching letter open. This was not unusual, but it was not the norm either. Usually the mail was delivered to their various studies. Only important correspondents were delivered to the table.

“Thank you Mimsy,” Lucius said as he took the offered post.

No longer surprised by its master’s unusual expression of gratitude, not like she and the other house-elves had been when he‘d first started thanking them, Mimsy bowed.

“Who is it from?” Narcissa inquired formally.

“I’m not sure,” Lucius answered truthfully. The handwriting on the front of the envelope was not familiar nor was the seal stamped in the red wax on the back. Taking the letter opener from the silver platter, he slit open the top of the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of folded parchment. He unfolded the parchment that seemed a little thicker than normal. A wallet-sized photograph fell onto his lap. He picked it up and frowned at it in confusion.

“What is it?” Narcissa asked her husband.

“A baby,” Lucius said.

Narcissa stilled. “Excuse me?”

“Here.” Lucius handed over the photo. He grew concerned when he noticed his wife go pale. “Cissa darling? Are you alright?”

“This--this baby looks like you,” she accused a little breathy.

“You think so?”

“I do.”

Lucius took back the photo and studied the obviously newborn infant. The child was dressed in a white outfit and was swaddled in a stripped blanket. Wisps of dark hair could be seen from under the white cap covering its head. It’s skin appeared an angry red and its eyes were dark and squinty. To Lucius, it appeared like any generic baby. “Honestly, Cissa darling, I do not see the similarity.”

“Well I do,” she snapped angrily. “What is this Lucius?”

Confused by her anger over a mere baby picture, Lucius turned towards the parchment the photo had been folded up in. “Not sure.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had spoken too soon.

Seeing his astonishment, Narcissa barked, “Well?”

“’Magical Great Britain Ministry of Health Division of Vital Statistics Certificate of Birth’,” he read the seal at the top of the certificate. His voice was barely above that of a whisper.

Narcissa blinked. “A birth certificate?”

Lucius gave a jerky nod of his head.

Her ire rekindled, Narcissa demanded, “Just who is this child?”

“‘Full Name of Child Asher James’,” Lucius faltered, “‘Lucius Malfoy-Potter’,” Lucius continued to read.

“Potter?” Narcissa echoed in disbelief. Her eyes narrowed. “As in Harry Potter?”

Gulping, Lucius nodded. Date of birth was one minute past midnight that very morning, he realized as he continued to scan the birth certificate with a rapidly beating pulse. His blue-gray eyes flitted to the name of the father.

His wife called out warningly, “Lucius.”

Stunned into silence, Lucius staggered to his feet and stumbled out of the dining room. He didn’t notice his chair topple to the floor with a loud clatter nor did he hear his wife calling out for him. He headed to the nearest fireplace, dumped in an extreme amount of floo powder and called out, “Nantosuelta Private Hospital.”

Draco swaggered passed the parlor just in time to catch sight of his father vanishing in a swirl of green flames. He halted and backed tracked. Of course by the time he retraced his steps, the fireplace was empty. “Was that Father? I wonder where is he off to this early in the morning?” Shrugging, Draco made his way to the dining room where he found his mother at the table sobbing quietly and clutching something in her hand. “Mother?” Concerned, he rushed to her side. Kneeling at her feet, he grasped her free hand within his own. “Mother what’s wrong?”

Narcissa thrust out her other hand. “This!” she sobbed angrily. “This is what’s wrong!”

In her mother‘s hand, Draco saw a crumbled photograph. Standing up, he took the photo out of her hand and smoothed it out as best he could. The photo was of a baby, a newborn by the looks of it. He flipped it over and there printed on the back in familiar chicken scratch was a name. “Asher James Lucius Malfoy-Potter,” he read with a gasp. His eyes grew wide as he started to understand. “2 Oct ’99 1201 am 7lbs 2oz.”

His mother made a chocking sound.

Momentarily losing his footing, Draco stumbled backwards. Groping behind him for a chair, he collapsed into the seat. “This…”

“-is your father’s _love child_ ,” Narcissa sneered. “Apparently he slept with Potter.”

Draco’s head snapped up and around. “He told you?”

“Yes,” Narcissa barked with a sharp nod of her head. She narrowed her gaze at her son. “You as well it seems.”

Biting his lip, Draco gazed down at his new baby brother.

With a disgusted sigh, Narcissa waved her hand. “Go. Just--go.”

Draco raised his head back up. “M-?”

“Potter more than likely is at Nantosuelta.”

Draco blinked. “Nano-what?”

“Nantosuelta Private Hospital. It’s a small, privately funded hospital in Opulentus Alley that caters primarily to the wealthy, celebrities and to aristocrats. They are known for their severe discretion policy,” Lady Malfoy explained. “It is that confidentiality that makes it so popular with certain members of society. What goes on there is not making headlines the next morning like at Saint Mungo‘s.”

Having gone back to study the photo of his brother, Draco nodded.

“Go Draco.”

Draco looked at his mother. The anger was gone. Instead, grief and sorrow were etched into the fine lines on her face. “Mother? Are you-?”

Narcissa smiled sadly at her son. Reaching out across the table, she patted his hand. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

With a nod, Draco pushed away from the table and made his way out of the dining room and down the hall to the parlor. Nervous at the prospect of not only seeing Harry for the first time in months, but at meeting his baby brother, he stepped into the fireplace, dropped a handful of floo powder and stated clearly, “Nantosuelta Private Hospital.” Like his father only minutes before him, he was whisked away in a dizzying twirl of green flame.

 

* * *

 

**Nantosuelta Private Hospital - Opulentus Alley, London, England**

It had been easy to find out which room Harry was in. Given the strict hospital policy of maintaining patient confidentiality, all Draco had to do was go up to the Mediwitches’ station in the entrance and inquire where Harry Potter’s room was. Simple as that. When he questioned the Mediwitch, she claimed he was on the approved visitors’ list. To say he was flabbergasted at the news that Harry welcomed his visit would be an understatement. Even more surprising was learning that neither the Weasel nor Granger were on the list.

Wondering what The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Mother was playing at, Draco made a beeline to the gift shop to see what types of gifts the hospital had for new mothers. He would never admit out loud that this was an attempt at delaying the inevitable.

Eventually, though, he knew he could not put it off any longer and made his way up to Harry’s private room on the maternity ward. Of course, given the maze-like corridors, Draco ended up lost once or twice before he was able to locate Harry’s room.

With his gift floating behind him, Draco paused in the open doorway and peeked inside. Sitting on the bed with the covers smoothed over his lap was the sole occupant of the room, Harry. The new mother was wearing the black silk pajama set that Draco had given to him for Christmas last year. Draco swelled with pride at the sight, but he scoffed at Harry’s unruly raven locks that were sticking up every which way. He also noticed that though Harry’s face was lined with exhaustion, he was glowing and grinning from ear to ear at Lucius who was swaying from side to side cooing down at a small swaddled bundle in his arms.

Nerves fluttered freely within his stomach at the sight of both Harry as well as his baby brother. His father acting so out of character was amusing him to no end though.

Clearing his throat quite loudly, Draco stepped over the threshold.

Startled, both Harry and his father turned towards the doorway.

“Son,” Lucius greeted with a nod of his head. He did not seem surprised to see him.

“Dray,” Harry whispered in surprise. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat at the absolutely asinine nickname, Draco asked from just inside the doorway, “Tell me Harry, why is it that the Weasel and Granger are not on your approved visitors’ list?”

Harry blushed. “I, uh, never told them I was pregnant.”

At that, Draco barked out a laugh.

“Truly Harry?” Lucius asked the younger man.

His gaze riveted on a loose thread of his knitted throw, Harry nodded in embarrassment. He’d been so focused on figuring out a way to tell Lucius about the baby and worrying about losing Draco’s friendship that, in all honesty, Ron and Hermione had not been in the forefront of his mind.

“Oh,” Draco gasped in the midst of his laughter, “this is going to be good. Do drop me a line when you plan on telling them. This is something I have to see.”

“Draco,” Lucius lightly scolded, though his lips twitched.

Harry himself chuckled lightly.

“Anyway, I, uh...” Now it was Draco’s turn to stammer and blush.

“Would you like to meet your brother?” Harry asked him softly.

Draco’s head snapped up at the question. His stunned expression became one of awe as he took in the open and honest look on Harry’s face. He stepped forward. “Can I?” he asked. His voice was just as soft as Harry’s.

“Of course,” Harry smiled. He started to turn towards Lucius, but did a double take over Draco’s shoulder. His expression turned into amused confusion. “Dray? What is that?”

“Hm?” Curious, Draco followed Harry’s gaze. “Oh,” he exclaimed. Hovering in the doorway was a giant white teddy bear that was holding a blue cellophane wrapped basket that was filled with goodies for mother and son. It was the gift he’d purchased downstairs in the gift shop. “That’s for you and Asher.”

Harry’s eyes widened minutely. “For us?”

Nodding, Draco summoned the humongous stuffed animal--it was bigger than Harry--and carefully lowered it to the end of the bed. “There’s diapers, diaper cream, wipes, baby powder, pacifiers, bottles, formula, baby booties, footy one-piece pajamas, a winter hat and matching gloves. There‘s a 500 galleon gift certificate for Celebrate Motherhood here in Opulentus and two tickets for the theatre.”

Harry looked up from his examination of the basket. There were tears in his eyes and awe on his face. “Oh, Dray. You didn’t have to!”

Trying for nonchalant, Draco shrugged. “I wanted to.” If the warmth flooding his face was any indication, he was sure he hadn’t succeeded. Before he knew what was happening, the air was being punched out of his lungs as Harry launched himself at him. Without a moment’s hesitation, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and melted within the embrace.

“Thank you for coming,” Harry whispered.

Draco shivered at the feel of Harry‘s breath whispering against his ear.

“I didn’t think you would after--you know.”

Unfortunately, he did know. Reluctantly, he pulled away. Draco cupped Harry’s face and stared into those beautiful emerald orbs that continued to glisten with unshed tears and looked upon Draco with uncertainty. Draco smiled. “I missed you too,” he whispered. He was well aware he was coming off as a Hufflepuff at the moment, but sometimes, that wasn’t such a bad thing.

The uncertainty was replaced by caution. “Really?” Harry searched Draco’s face.

Draco’s smile only grew. “Yes. I was an idiot. Forgive me?”

Sobbing out a laugh, Harry nodded.

Without thinking, Draco swooped in and kissed Harry. Though, he froze as soon as his lips touched Harry’s. Despite what Harry wrote in his letter, there was no telling how the new mother would react to the sneak attack kiss. He soon found there was no need to worry for Harry was kissing him back.

The sound of crying interrupted their moment.

Remembering where they were and that they had an audience, the two men jumped part guiltily.

With a grin so wide that it hurt Draco just seeing it, Harry sniffled and wiped away the tears that were coursing down his cheeks. He gently and carefully took his son from Lucius and told Draco, “Come meet your brother.”

Gulping, Draco stepped forward and after receiving a smile and a nod from his father, sat down on the edge of the bed besides Harry. He reached out tentatively.

Seeing his hesitation, Harry said, “It’s okay.”

Draco ran the side of a knuckle down his little brother’s flushed cheek. “He’s so beautiful.”

Harry smiled his thanks as he rocked the fussy newborn.

“You know Father, he looks a lot like you,” Draco said.

While his father sighed, Harry chuckled.

Draco looked between the two. “What?”

Harry laughed harder.

“What?”

 

* * *

 

**Two Years Later - Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England**

This and that has happened and before anyone new it, another year passed and little Asher was turning two years old.

Harry laughed till he was crying as he watched Draco tear across the lawn after his brother who, with the aid of their father, had slipped an ice cube down Draco’s back, effectively ruining his absurdly expensive silk shirt.

When he wasn’t being tormented and harassed by his two year old brother, with help from their father, Draco adored his little brother. He spoiled the toddler rotten and has taken it upon himself to pass all his knowledge to Asher. They were becoming a real menace. Draco bragged to everyone who would listen, and sometimes to those who weren’t, about his baby brother. He loved being an older brother.

Harry turned towards the sound of chuckling. Sitting across from him were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

All Harry had wanted from Lucius was for him to be a father to their son and that was exactly what Lucius has become. Lucius was ecstatic to be a father for a second time. That day in the hospital, Lucius admitted to not being the best father to Draco and had vowed that he would get it right this time around. And so far, he had. Lucius doted on Asher and spoiled the boy rotten. Harry had been forced to magically expand Asher’s closet and purchase several bottomless trunks for all the clothes and toys and whatnot Lucius bought their son. Asher spent every weekend at Malfoy Manor. Every Wednesday father and son spent the entire day together, Tuesdays and Thursdays, they spent the afternoon together and every night, Lucius came over and tucked his son in and kissed him good night. He even read to their son; some of those stories included Muggle fairytales. The man was as proud as a peacock. He had even decided to go against Pureblood Law and name Asher his co-heir. It had been Asher’s first birthday present.

“More tea Harry?”

Turning towards Narcissa, who was holding out the blue teapot, Harry shook his head. “No thank you,” he declined politely.

Narcissa had been the real surprise, though. The day after Lucius and Draco visited, Narcissa showed up just after Asher’s morning feeding wanting to speak to him. And talk they did. Harry had repeated what he’d told Draco; that he had no intention of coming between her and her husband; that he was not in love with Lucius and that he wanted nothing more than a father for his son. After that, Narcissa had fallen into the role of doting stepmother as she refused to acknowledge herself as being of grandmother age.

Asher’s introduction had not gone over so smoothly with the rest of Wizarding Britain.

A week after his son’s birth, Harry was released from the hospital. Instead of returning to New Zealand, Harry returned to the newly renovated Grimmauld Place. It did not resemble the old house at all. It was open, airy and modern. It was a good thing Sirius’ mother was already dead because she would have fallen over dead at the sight of her house. At first, Harry thought he’d once again screwed up and floo’d to the wrong residence for the parlor he stepped into was not the one he remembered from nine months ago. It was only the appearance of Kreacher welcoming him home that reassured him that he had indeed returned to Grimmauld Place.

That weekend, he’d invited Ron and Hermione over. The look on their faces when he appeared with Asher in his arms had been priceless. He had never seen a more poignant look of “what-the-fuck” in his entire life. It had taken digging out Asher’s birth certificate that finally convinced them that no he was not babysitting. Two years later, they were still a little sore over the fact that they had been left in the dark about his pregnancy. Hermione had gone on this whole “why-didn’t-you-trust-us-we‘re-your-friends-you-can-tell-us-anything” spiel. He’d told her to shut the fuck up. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t said those exact words, but he _had_ apologized for his “inability to think about anybody other than himself” followed by, “Not everything is about you so either shut the fuck up so we can catch up and have a nice visit or leave. I do not need this shit right now.” Then when they finally realized whose name was written down for the father, Hermione had gone on another “what-the-fuck-were-you-thinking” spiel. To that, Harry _did_ tell them to fuck off. He hadn’t had much sleep the night before and he may have been _a little_ snappish. Of course, Draco had peed his pants he’d laughed so hard when Harry told him later that night about the visit with Ron and Hermione.

Though they were a little hurt that he had not told them about him being pregnant, the rest of the Weasleys had been more welcoming, especially Molly and Arthur who spoiled and smothered Asher as if he were their own grandson.

As for Ginny…What was there to say about his ex-girlfriend? She’d been more hurt than he felt she had a right to be given they were no longer together and she was, supposedly, pretty serious about Seamus. It did not take her long to volunteer herself as a surrogate mother for little Asher though. Harry had not been too happy about her self-appointed role and had told her as much. They’d had a really nasty fight and were still not on speaking terms, which was just fine for both Harry as well as his son, for Asher had taken an instant dislike of Ginny. His accidental magic had a nasty habit of exploding whilst she was around. George and the Malfoys found it hilarious.

In in all, Asher loved all the attention.

And Wizarding Britain loved the Potter heir. It had quickly gotten to the point where Harry had been forced to relocate him and his son to New Zealand. He had also brought Kreature with them. The ancient, decrepit house-elf had taken it upon himself to become Asher’s nanny. It was shocking how sweet and gentle the creature could be.

“Mama! Mama!” squealed Asher as the toddler flung himself into his arms.

“Hey there my baby boy,” Harry cooed as he combed his fingers through the toddler’s silken blond locks.

An out of breath Draco appeared around the corner of the house just then. Holding his hands out, Draco crouched low and slowly approached his baby brother. “There you are you little Goblin.”

Squealing with laughter, Asher pressed closer to his mother’s legs.

Hugging his free arm around Asher, Harry chuckled.

The primary magical school was set to open in Spain next fall. It would open as a day school, but would have dorms for those students who wished to remain on campus. Harry had heard rumors that the Spanish wizarding government planned to name the school in his honor. Not that he wasn’t honored, but he sure hoped not.

The crumbling Potter château in the wizarding village of Lis, France and the one-hundred plus acres it sat on has since become not only a park, but also a National Landmark and was now on the Historic Registrar. True to his word, Lucius lent his expertise to helping restart the Potter winery. It has become one of the top selling brands in the world and that was before anybody knew who the owner was. Along with Château du Lis, the winery as well as the vineyard helped put the small village of Lis on the map. The once faltering economy in the tiny village was now blossoming.

As for Harry and Draco, they had agreed to take things slow at first, but now they were engaged. The ceremony was to take place here in the gardens of Malfoy Manor in the spring.

Pausing his assault on his baby brother, Draco caught Harry’s eyes and smiled. Straightening, Draco reached out and cupped Harry’s cheek. His eyes fluttering closed, Harry leaned into his touch and smiled. Trapped between the two, Asher merely watched them curiously with his thumb in his mouth.

Harry’s anxiety and panic attacks had ceased to be a problem. In fact, they had all but vanished around the time he discovered he was pregnant with Asher.

“Love you,” Harry whispered.

“Love you too,” Draco returned as he leaned forward and kissed Harry.

Asher squealed just then and reached up, effectively putting himself between the betrothed couple. “Kiss kiss,” he said.

Chuckling, Harry lifted his son up into his lap and started tickling him and kissing him all over as the others watched on in amusement. Asher’s squeals filled the garden.

Life, at the moment, was good.

 

**…The End**


End file.
